Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I only own my plot and the OC's.
A/N: Hello all! This is a companion piece of sorts to my current fic- if you haven't read If You Could See What I See, I strongly suggest you read at least the first six or seven chapters before reading this, or you might not follow what's going on in this story. This is something that I have been working on for a few months and follows a tangential plotline; specifically, what if the humilitas and the horrors of the war had impacted Hermione's mind far worse than we've seen in If You Could See What I See? What if it didn't just manifest in unhealthy eating and a lack of self-esteem? What if it resulted in something far more dark and dangerous? Originally meant to be a one-shot, but it got so long that now will be a two-shot.
You see, several months ago, someone very special died. She died not of cancer, or heart failure, but ultimately because of a mental illness. She fell into a deep, deep depression over a year ago and not long after, she began to develop a psychosis of sorts. She became delusional and whilst she had periods of lucidity, she eventually lost the battle against this silent and deadly illness and took her own life. This young woman was not even 25 years old and she was beautiful, faithful and devout, talented and very, very loved by so many. Even so, the darkness slowly overtook her mind until it had consumed her.
I know many people who suffer or have suffered from depression, psychosis, anxiety and eating disorders, and I know there are so many more out there: it is to you that I now speak. I cannot imagine your pain, nor can I begin to fathom the darkness in which you are so often forced to live. I can only imagine how difficult it must be to hide your pain from the rest of the world, a world that is only too ready to label you and ostracise you, a world that doesn't want to know about your struggles and simply tries to pretend you don't exist. But I can tell you this, with absolute and utter certainty: You are unique- there is absolutely no one in this world that is like you, for you were made to be unique. You are worthwhile- you can and will touch the lives of so many others, whether you know it or not. You are precious, and most importantly, you are loved. So, so loved. You are not and never will be alone, no matter how lonely it may seem. Please don't discount your worth; please don't let the dark voices convince you that you are nothing, that you are a burden, for you are NOT- YOU ARE A GIFT, and never let anyone or anything tell you otherwise.
Please, if you feel depressed, or anxious, if you feel alone or worthless, if you feel like you can't take it anymore, talk to someone. There are groups, there are helplines- and most importantly, there are other people. Heck, there's me! I can't promise to make it go away or magically fix everything, but I can listen. I can help you locate support. Please, don't ever believe you are alone.
And so, in honour of that dear, departed special person, and you, the wonderful people out there, I give you this little story.
As always, please please read and review.
Hermione's Flat, Roma, Italia: 10pm Local Time
It had started as a punishment.
Most people would think that it had started as an attempt to end her life, but truly, Hermione reflected numbly, it had begun as a punishment. The fact that one day, she could strike too deep and end her life became a bonus; a longing, a dream. But it had started as a punishment.
Because she deserved to be punished.
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, willing the images to go away, willing her mind to spare her the horrors she knew would follow.
It didn't.
The images raced before her mind's eye, causing an involuntary whimper to escape her lips as she curled into a ball on her bed.
Worthless Hermione, her mind taunted her, unloved, unwanted from the first. Vile, useless, hideous!
"No," she whimpered aloud, "please, stop."
It didn't.
Alone, alone, always alone, the dark voice continued. Even as a child you were unwanted.
Unwanted memories of her school life flashed before her eyes.
The constant taunting and bullying by other children.
Flash.
The cruel tricks and suspicious hatred that had grown soon after her magic had begun to manifest. The other children had known she was different, although they hadn't quite understood how, and they had made her suffer for it.
Flash.
Being kidnapped and blind-folded before being hung upside down from the second story balcony railing, strung up hand and foot like a pig for slaughter. She had hung there for two hours before the teachers had found her.
Flash.
Being hit and spat on in the playground.
Flash.
Hiding in the deepest corners of the library, hoping that no one would find her.
Flash
She never told her parents; not after the first time, when they had gone storming up to the school, and the teachers had given the bullies a 'stern talking to'. The violence had gotten worse after that.
Flash.
Pretending to her parents that she had been invited to visit with "friends" and then hiding in the library, unable to admit the shameful truth to them.
Flash
Alone at Hogwarts, ostracised by her peers as a mudblood know-it-all.
Flash.
Knowing she would die in the bathroom as the troll came towards her, and welcoming it. What was there to live for? Why should she crave life only to be rejected again and again?
Flash
Malfoy cursing her in the back.
Flash
Harry and Ron ignoring her because of a broomstick.
And so it went on, and on. Each memory, each thought was a knife in her heart, proof of how unloved, of how worthless she was.
Because if she wasn't worthless, then she wouldn't have been rejected as she had been.
And then came the war.
Hermione whimpered, a single tear trickling down her cheek as she anticipated what was to come.
Ron abandoning her, abandoning Harry on the hunt.
Flash
Bellatrix Lestrange and her wand- and her KNIFE…
A strangled moan escaped Hermione.
And you deserved it, her mind whispered. You deserved it, or else why would she have chosen YOU?
"Please, no more!" Hermione whispered.
The images didn't stop.
Killing, killing, so much killing in the war. She had killed, she had maimed, she had destroyed.
She had failed to save so many.
It was HER fault Sirius had died. She could, should have stopped Harry that night at the Ministry. It didn't matter that Sirius had come back- it was still her fault.
Remus and Tonks, almost killed, leaving a baby behind.
"Teddy," she whimpered. She could, should have done more to protect them. She had seen Bellatrix taking aim at Tonks and had tried to fell her, only to miss.
Her fault.
Fred.
At that, Hermione wept.
I'm sorry, Fred, I'm so sorry! I saw you fall and I couldn't stop it! I'm sorry, so sorry!
Flash
Her parents.
At that, Hermione could hold back no more, and wailed.
She had wiped their memories, their minds, she had sent them away and they had died.
Her fault.
Killer, murderer! Her mind shrieked. That's why they all hate you, that's why you're unwanted. They know, they all know what you've done!
She knew, or thought she knew, somewhere deep in her mind, that she had not killed her parents or Fred, that Sirius' death was not her fault but, somehow, at the same time she knew that it was.
Reality and the dark voice blurred together, so entwined she could not tell which was which and she was tired. Tired of not sleeping, tired of the nightmares, tired of the memories, tired of being her. She was tired of everything that was wrong with her, tired of being alone and she was tired of feeling like this, as though she were slowly losing her mind and there was nothing she could do about it.
She was just tired.
Opening her eyes, she gulped several times, trying to bring her tears under control, trying to calm herself, absently thankful she lived alone so no one could see, so no one had to see what she became under cover of night, how unhinged and pathetic she truly was.
Furiously wiping away her tears, she took several deep breaths and tried to focus on clearing her mind to sleep, as she did every night.
It never worked.
"Please," she whispered aloud, "just let me sleep tonight, just one night! Surely even I deserve that!"
There was no reply, no answering calmness. Instead, there was a build up in her stomach, a bubbling, nervous disquiet which spread through her body and left her trembling. She knew how it would end; it always ended the same way.
But she tried- oh, how she tried to keep it in, to keep her teeth from chattering. She performed her breathing exercises, she tried to reason with herself and think positive thoughts. It didn't work either.
It never worked.
Instead, the guilt and the trembling, the loneliness and the hatred of herself, of being like this, grew and grew as it always did until she couldn't take it anymore, until she thought her body must stop and fall from the electricity that was coursing through it.
Loser, her mind whispered. Freak. No one else is like this- they're all normal! They aren't crazy, like you- look at you! Pathetic, snivelling wreck that you are! Freak! Useless fool! That's why they leave you alone- you don't deserve help, you don't deserve ANYTHING but this! Even YOU know it- that's why you don't tell anyone, because you're nothing but a burden!
The trembling and the bubbling nerves, the restlessness built and built until she screamed, her silencing wards keeping the sounds from outside ears.
It wouldn't stop and she felt as if she were going to explode if it didn't stop soon.
The worst was the silence; the deafening silence ringing in her ears. It was proof that she was alone, completely and utterly alone.
Hermione began to sob again, desperate for release, desperate for it to stop, but she knew it wouldn't.
Only one thing made it stop.
She knew what she had to do, and she hated herself for it even as she unfurled and reached a violently trembling hand to the drawer of the nightstand and removed the knife. It was funny; even holding it caused the tears to stop and her body to calm slightly. Her body knew release was coming.
She looked at it, this remanent of her childhood. Her father had given her this knife when he had used to take her camping in the forest of Dean, in another time, another life.
It was a knife for cutting just about anything, her father had told her. It was made for cutting grass and fruit, animal flesh and tent canvas and just about anything else.
Even her.
It was fitting, she thought, her still trembling hand causing the knife to shake, that it should be this knife to deliver the punishment.
With that, she flicked it open, the familiar feeling of loathing and disgust coursing through her at what she was about to do, even as her body craved relief.
The first slash was for her parents.
The young woman barely flinched as the blood began to spurt from the inside of her wrist. She was used to it.
The second was for Fred, and Sirius and Remus and Tonks. For Harry, who had delivered himself to Voldemort and almost been lost. For those she had failed.
The second scar burst open, still raw from its punishment the night before.
The third was for those she had killed.
Hermione's brown eyes began to flow once again as she regarded her wrist, hidden during the day with many glamours, but at night, decorated with scars, many, many scars, from her punishments.
Because she deserved to be punished.
She loathed herself for what she was doing even as she sliced again and again.
Weak, the voice taunted, pathetic. You are disgusting. Look at you!
Hermione cried as her knife flashed again and again, as the scarlet blood flowed, waiting for the punishment to calm her body even as it repulsed her mind.
It seemed to take more and more slashes each night to calm her.
Finally, what seemed an eternity later, it was enough and her body had calmed even as her mind continued to seethe with tumultuous thoughts and emotions. Hermione shifted her stiff form from the bed and cast the clotting charm on her arm. Not the healing charm though; never that.
She didn't deserve to be healed.
Forcing her stiff legs to carry her woozily to the bathroom, she thrust her bloody arm under the faucet and turned on the cold water, hissing as it stung her many wounds. She could, she supposed, have cast a cleaning charm, but she didn't. She never did.
The stinging was part of her punishment too.
That done, she cleaned the sink and stumbled towards the bed, sinking into its depths and waiting to claim the few hours of restless sleep she always did.
Eventually, sleep, and nightmares, came to claim her.
The next morning, Hermione groaned as she woke. The few measly hours she had managed to snatch between nightmares and her tortured thoughts did not exactly leave her refreshed.
Resisting the urge to hide under the covers for the rest of her life, she forced herself to get out of bed and shower.
Hissing as the hot water stung the many wounds on her left arm, she quickly showered and then shut off the hot water, panting at how much it hurt.
You deserve it, the dark voice whispered gleefully.
Shuddering with suppressed emotion, she ignored the voice and cast a drying charm before trudging back into her bedroom to select something to wear for the day's outing, as Sirius and the Lupins were coming to visit her.
They're just coming to see because you're alone, because they feel sorry for you, the voice told her. No one could actively want YOUR company, and don't you forget it.
Stop, she whimpered in her mind, please just STOP!
With that, she focused on finding something to wear. Irrespective of the heat of the Roman autumn, she chose to wear a black cardigan over her loose green t-shirt and black gypsy skirt. Whilst she never went out without a glamour charm covering the scars, the risk that one of them could break open and bleed was always a risk, and that would NOT be covered by the glamour. That could lead to questions- very, very awkward questions.
No one could ever find out.
And so, she wore long sleeves, had done summer and winter alike this year, since she had first started her punishments. It was easy to get away with in the British summer because it was never really that hot- not like it was here in Rome.
Quickly casting a glamour charm over the hideous scars, she slipped into a black cotton bra and panties before pulling on her chosen outfit and stepping into flat green sandals.
Running a brush through her waist length curls, she pulled her hair severely back from her face and into a bun before slipping her misused arms into the sleeves of the cardigan, wincing as the woolly fabric rubbed against the barely closed slashes on her arm.
With that, she cast a glance at herself in the mirror.
Ugly bitch, the voice derided.
Shaking her head, Hermione made her way out to the living room balcony to wait for the others, grabbing her sunglasses and black leather handbag on the way. Opening the glass doors, she stepped outside and over to the chair she had left near the railing yesterday. With a sigh, the young witch dropped her bag onto the floor, slid on her sunglasses and slumped into the chair, gazing listlessly out at the beautiful view in front of her.
Hermione could see the Galleria Borghese and the Gardens from where she sat, and the many people enjoying the sunny autumn day. There were families picnicking, and lovers strolling, children playing and even a band of some sort had decided to entertain visitors for a day. It was the kind of thing she would have loved, once upon a time. She would have loved to have been there, wandering the paths of the famous Borghese Gardens, enjoying the beautiful artworks in the renowned Galleria Borghese, the music, the atmosphere…..
But it no longer held any appeal, except on an intellectual level. It was something she knew, deep in her mind, that she would have liked, long ago. Now…well, nothing really seemed to interest her anymore; nothing really seemed to give her real enjoyment. Not even reading was the enthralling pleasure it had been. And that worried her, on some level. She knew, deep down, that something was wrong, that this wasn't normal. However, the rest of her mind was consumed and owned by the dark voice, and the voice told her that it was her fault that she didn't enjoy anything anymore.
Perhaps it was because she didn't deserve to enjoy anything anymore?
So consumed was she with this train of thought that she didn't hear three people and one very smallperson arrive in the foyer and make their way to the balcony.
"What are you thinking about, love?" A rumbling baritone whispered in her ear.
"Sirius!" She jumped, unaware that she had moved back a little. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you'd arrived- I was just lost in thought."
Giving her a devastating grin the animagus moved towards her, causing her to flinch, involuntarily.
He looked gorgeous, she thought despairingly. His tall, muscled frame, his handsome features, complimented by the black jeans, a blue button up shirt and a black sports coat with black leather shoes that he wore with a certain ease and panache. Why the hell would he want to be seen with me?
Unbeknownst to her, Sirius had noticed her involuntary flinch, and that she had moved back from him, seemingly unaware of what she was doing. Internally frowned as he watched her greet Remus and Tonks from what appeared to be a slightly excessive distance.
In fact, come to think of it, he mused, Hermione's been getting more and more physically distant with everyone. I can't even remember the last time I saw her hold Teddy…
This particularly disturbed him, because he had always found the brilliant young witch to be extremely physically affectionate- and she had always loved holding Teddy. Hell, she had never had any trouble holding Sirius himself through his nightmares or hugging him in greeting. So what was going on?
The thought stayed with him as they went about their day.
As the day progressed, Sirius, who was watching Hermione, had begun to notice some very odd things.
She was wearing a cardigan, a woollen cardigan, mind, on a hot day when everyone else was in singlets and summer dresses. Furthermore, she was obviously hot because she was fanning herself constantly throughout the day.
Why didn't she just take off her jacket?
Secondly, she didn't eat more than about two bites of fruit for lunch, smiling and saying she wasn't hungry, when he could damn well smell that she was. Remus had agreed.
Third and most disturbing was her reaction to Teddy, who had come running into her leg and she had instinctively attempted to pull back, her face suddenly pale and repulsed.
What the hell was that about? He couldn't believe she could be repulsed by Teddy; he knew she loved her godson more than anything.
What the hell was going on?
Hermione was panicking.
He touched me, Teddy touched me, she hyperventilated.
She was dirty, evil, damaged- they shouldn't touch her, no one should touch her, especially Teddy- he was too innocent and pure to be tainted by the likes of her.
They shouldn't let him touch her.
The panic was building again, the familiar trembling and bubbling and Hermione could have wept.
There could only be one end to this.
Sirius sat on the bench, waiting for Hermione to come out of the restroom so they could catch up to Remus, Tonks and Teddy who had gone ahead to the Fontana di Trevi.
He was growing increasingly worried at Hermione's oddly erratic behaviour. She wasn't usually like this- alternately jumpy and listless, nervous and bleak. Truth be told he had been worrying about her for months now. She had been growing more and more reserved and was drawing into herself.
He wondered if part of it was because of her growing distance from Harry and the others, if perhaps it wasn't loneliness.
But how could loneliness explain her aversion to touch and her sudden need to ignore the weather and her own physical discomfort? And her gradual weight loss? Her face was beginning to look so very unhealthy….
This was disturbing, and all the more so because it was Hermione. Sirius had a very special place in his heart for this kind, loving witch who had nursed him back to health. They had eventually become very close since his return, and he could honestly say that she was as much his best friend and confidante as Remus was. Hell, she was more than that. She was…Hermione. There wasn't a word strong enough to describe what she was to him.
So he was worried. Very worried.
The raven-haired man shook his head, sighing in frustration. So caught up was he in his thoughts that he didn't notice the many appreciative glances cast in his direction by various women in the café, nor did he notice that Hermione had already left the restroom and was wobbling her way over to him.
"Sirius?"
He blinked and, seeing Hermione before him, fluidly stood. Looking closely at her, he frowned. Her eyes seemed slightly red, and her face pale.
"Are you alright, love?" He asked, slipping a finger under her chin.
"Yes, I'm fine," she tried to smile, pulling her chin from his grasp and walking somewhat unsteadily towards the door. "Shall we catch up with the others?"
Sirius stood for a moment, watching her go, his gut telling him that things weren't right at all.
The Lupin Residence, London, 10pm Local Time
"What do you think it is?"
Sirius frowned at Remus' question, as the three sat on the couch in the Lupins' living room after putting Teddy to bed.
"I….I don't know," Sirius shook his head, slowly, mystified. "I just…something isn't right."
Remus sighed, slipping his arm around Tonks. "We can't do much if we don't know what it is. Maybe….maybe we should talk to her. Maybe we should ask directly."
Sighing, Sirius slumped against the back of the couch. "We can try, but something tells me she won't be giving away anything so easily. I…maybe I could ask to stay with her for a few days, during that auror conference they're sending me to in Rome. Might pick up more that way, and at least she won't be alone." Turning pleading eyes to them, he told them,"I can't let anything happen to her. I just can't.
Narrowing her eyes thoughtfully at her cousin, Tonks nodded slowly. "I think you're right. Maybe if we can see what's going on, we'll know more and we can help her."
Sirius sighed with relief. Now all he had to do was convince Hermione.
Hermione's Flat, Roma: 1pm Local Time
Hermione sat trembling on her bed. It wasn't enough to do it at night anymore- she had to punish herself morning and night, now.
It was hard to continue with her punishments without Sirius finding out whilst he was staying here, but she had managed. And she could hardly refuse to host him for the duration of the conference, after all. He was her friend. Her very dear friend. So she continued her punishments morning and night and made sure that she cast anti-swelling charms on her face and even a few glamours, so Sirius wouldn't see what she looked like and worry.
But it wasn't enough, now. She had to punish herself for more and more every day, and now this latest item on her list would require a very severe punishment.
Emilio…..He had fooled her….she had thought he liked her, that he wanted to be friends, when all alone he wanted to trick her, to bribe her, to help a shady character to infiltrate the Ministero.
It's your fault, the voice told her, it's all your fault because you were stupid enough to think he liked you. You know what you are- if you had remembered that this never would have happened.
Your fault.
Failure. Liability. Burden.
The words resounded in her head, and before she knew it, she burst into tears, her knife flashing as she punished herself.
Only, this time, it wasn't working. It wasn't easing the anger and the pain, it wasn't calming her body. If anything, she felt worse and worse with each slash, and she viciously cut deeper and deeper, her blood spurting, frantically hoping that she would strike her artery and she would be done with this torture.
She couldn't take it anymore.
"Please," she sobbed aloud, forgetting that, as it wasn't part of her usual routine, she hadn't cast silencing charms. "Please let me die!"
Again and again the silver knife flashed, deeper and deeper, but it wasn't enough anymore.
Her heart almost stopped when a knock came at her door.
"Mione? Are you alright, love? Did you come home sick? I thought I heard crying…."
The silencing charms! She panicked, even while she slashed. I forgot the silencing charms, and Sirius must have come home for lunch!
She should stop, she knew that, should hide the blood, clean the room, pretend it was all OK- but she couldn't stop. She had to keep going, just had to. Something drove her madly on, and she couldn't stop it.
The knock came again. "Hermione? May I come in?"
At that moment, she hit the main artery with a loud cry of pain, and the blood began to jettison from her arm, falling onto the bed, the curtains, her clothing…..
Unfortunately, Sirius had heard the cry and knocked again.
"What was that?! Hermione, I'm coming in!"
The door opened and Sirius stood framed in the doorway, looking concerned.
"Hermione, what….." He froze midsentence, unable to believe the scene before him. There was blood everywhere.
Blood soaked the bed, the carpet, even the curtains! And on the bed was Hermione, his Hermione, clutching her arm, a silver knife in her hand, blood covering her arm, her clothes, her face…
Sirius wanted to vomit- Hermione had done this to herself? In all his imaginings, all his musings of what could be wrong, he had never thought she could be doing this. It felt as though someone had punched him the gut and he couldn't breath, couldn't speak, couldn't move.
The sight of him seemed to upset Hermione further.
"No! NO! Out, OUT! Get out!" she sobbed. "Don't want you to see, out, out!"
Her hysterical shout managed to snap Sirius out of his temporary stupor and caused his field instincts to kick in. Drawing his wand, he banished the knife to the kitchen and summoned her wand to him, causing her to recoil in horror as she watched him stagger towards her.
He had to staunch the bleeding, had to heal her….
"No, no, give it back, give it back! It's not finished yet, you have to let me finish!"
"Her-hermione," he croaked, before his legs suddenly seemed to propel him towards her in a burst of speed, a hollow feeling in his gut as he watched her recoil, clutching her arm and looking around in a panic.
"Give it back!" She sobbed, "Give it back, I have to finish!"
Finish? Oh, God…..
Sirius drew a sharp breath at that thought as he sat on the bed and reached for her injured arm, pressing down to stop the bleeding whilst reaching for his wand to cast first aid charms.
What he hadn't counted on was Hermione squirming and fighting to free herself from his grasp as the blood began to seep out of his fingers.
"Hermione, love, please, stay still, let me heal you!"
Her eyes, red from crying, grew wide as she redoubled her efforts. "NO! You can't, you mustn't! No healing, it isn't allowed!"
Sirius shook his head slowly. What the hell was she on about, not allowed? Not allowed by WHOM?
Irrespective, he couldn't just leave her like this. Hell, the doctrine of emergency applied, irrespective of her consent!
Bugger it all, he though shakily, and silently cast the healing and first aid charms he had been taught as a field auror, watching with relief as the blood stopped flowing. He cast a cleansing charm on her arm, but she jerked away before he could do anything else, her face white.
"NO!" She cried wildly, "How could you? No healing charms! No cleaning charms!"
"But why?" He pleaded with her. "Why can't you use healing charms? Hermione, please, answer me! Why are you doing this?"
"Have to continue, give it back! Oh please, give it back, Sirius!" She sobbed, not seeming to hear his question. "I have to finish! I have to!"
Sirius flinched at the pain in her eyes and couldn't resist drawing her struggling form into his arms.
"But why, love, why? What are you finishing? Please, talk to me! What are you finishing?"
Hermione actually shook in his arms, tremors raking her frame again and again as she tried to squirm away from him, but he held on like grim death, uncaring of the blood smearing all over him. All he cared about in that moment was making sure she didn't hurt herself again.
How long had she been doing this? He felt sick to realise that he could easily have lost her and never known why.
God, sweetheart, why? He thought to himself, trying to calm his churning stomach.
"Let me go! I need to f-finish!" She gasped, her teeth chattering.
"Finish what? Please, tell me and I might let you go!" That was a lie of course- he had no intention of letting her go. Hermione squirmed a little more before giving in, her trembling form laying still in his arms.
"My p-punishment," she whispered, her head hanging in shame.
"Punishment?" The animagus was aghast. "Punishment for what, sweetheart? What could you possibly have done to deserve this?"
She didn't answer, and sobbed.
"Hermione? Love, please, you have to talk to, please let me in!"
"Please give me my knife b-back," she hiccoughed. "I have to finish."
"What? No! Hermione, I won't let you do this to yourself!"
With that, her eyes grew wide and she began to struggle again. "Let me go! Just let me go, leave me alone to die. Why won't you let me die?"
Sirius felt as though cold water had been poured on him. Let her die? Not in this lifetime!
He couldn't do without her; he just couldn't. Hermione was everything and he couldn't care less who or what tried to stand in his way, he simply could not and would not lose her.
"Love, don't say that, please, don't say such things!" He pleaded as he clung to her shaking form.
Hermione continued to cry and scream, begging and demanding her knife by turns. Seeing that there was nothing he could do for her at the present moment, he shakily cast a sleeping charm on her and then just as shakily rose to go to the floo. She needed a healer. Now.
The Lupin Residence
Remus sat in his favourite armchair, attempting to focus on his book, however, he was not having much luck. He was far too worried about Hermione- and Sirius. He had seemed to take his break-up from Lira well enough, especially considering that she had turned out to be a betrothed blood-prejudiced bigot who was using muggleborns as lab rats, but still…
Sighing, he tried to read the same paragraph for the fourth time, only to be interrupted by a flat, toneless voice from the Floo.
"Moony, call Andromeda and bring her to Mione's flat. Now."
Remus gaped at him. "Sirius, you're covered in blood! What the hell…?"
"Just call her! NOW" Sirius barked, and disappeared from the floo.
The werewolf sat stunned in his chair before shaking himself from his stupor, and flinging a handful of floo powder into the fireplace.
"Andromeda Tonks' office, St Mungo's!" He called croakily.
Hermione's Flat, Roma
Sirius sat anxiously, waiting for Andromeda to come out from Hermione's room, whilst Remus sat close by on the couch, alternately wringing his hands and looking towards him. Sirius had no idea what he had told Moony- all he remembered was dragging Andromeda into Hermione's room the moment Remus had brought her, managing to croak out what he had seen and then leaving her to examine the sleeping witch. He wasn't entirely sure if he had said anything at all to Moony, for his mind was fixed on the image of Hermione, curled on her bed and slashing at her arm with her knife.
And the blood- there was so much blood….
The raven-haired man shuddered in reaction. That sight would haunt him for a long time, he knew. He wouldn't be able to sleep without seeing Hermione covered in blood.
Evidently, the sandy-haired werewolf couldn't wait any longer and Sirius' visible shudder was the last straw.
"Sirius? Sirius! Damn it, Padfoot, what the hell is going on here? I've waited long enough!"
Blinking, Sirius brought his attention back to present and saw that Remus was standing in front of him, his face pale and hands shaking.
Taking a deep breath, the animagus tried to force his voice to work.
"Hermione," he croaked weakly. "She hurt herself."
Remus frowned. "What do you mean she hurt herself? Was it a spell gone wrong, a fall, what?"
Shaking his head frantically, Sirius tried to explain, only able to croak one word.
"Knife."
"A knife?" Remus repeated, looking baffled. "How did she hurt herself with a knife?"
Before Sirius could try to answer, however, Andromeda, emerging from Hermione's room, replied for him.
"She has been harming herself deliberately with a knife, Remus."
Remus sat down shakily, the blood draining from his face. "You…you mean that…."
Nodding grimly, Andromeda continued. "She has been cutting herself for months, I'd estimate by the scars on her left arm."
Sirius felt as though his stomach had turned to lead. "Months?" He croaked.
How the hell had he missed that? Hermione had been cutting herself for MONTHS and he hadn't noticed. What kind of person did that make him?
"Yes, months. Today was….today was particularly bad, Sirius. She had hit her radial artery and had you not been there, I have no doubt she would eventually have bled to death."
Seeing by Sirius' ashen face that he was unable to reply, Remus tried to speak. "Will she….is she…." He swallowed, unable to finish the sentence, unable to face the thought that he could very well lose one he considered family.
Andromeda understood what he was trying to say. "She will live, Remus. At least, for today. But unless something is done, she will do this again and again until she succeeds."
Sirius blanched and heard Remus gasp behind him.
Again? She would hurt herself again?
Why? What had happened to her?
"What," he tried to rasp, before clearing his throat and trying again, "What do we have to do? What does she need?"
"She needs mind healing Sirius," his cousin told him bluntly. "She's deeply depressed, quite possibly delusional, not to mention anxious and she needs mind healing, support, and, for the immediate future, almost constant supervision. I have cast strong sleeping charms on her, but she cannot sleep forever. She will likely wake in a few hours and Sirius, you must know that she has reached her breaking point. She will very likely try to end it again. She must not be left alone and this flat must be purged of anything sharp or deadly. Do you understand? Potions, appliances with chords….In truth, perhaps it might be better to send her to a specialist facility."
Shaking his head jerkily, he managed to rasp, "I don't want her sent to an institution. It would kill her. Do you know of any mind healers? Money is no object- I want the best."
Pursing her lips, Andromeda considered for a moment. "I know of several, but, as it happens, one of the finest mind healers in Europe is right here in Rome. Her name is Daniella Andretti, and she specialises in cases of wartime trauma and acute depression. I believe it would be best to consult her, but I suspect you will also require a nurse of some kind to stay here for the time being. If you approve, I will owl Signora Andretti immediately and ask her to attend Hermione."
Remus, who until now, had not been able to speak, had one stipulation to add. "Give me her address and one of us will pick her up," he managed to get out. "And she will have to take an oath of secrecy not to reveal Hermione's whereabouts to anyone with out our express permission. Hermione wanted privacy, when she came here," he added, seeing that Andromeda was about to argue, "and she deserves it now more than ever."
Sighing, she nodded. "Very well. In the meantime, I have several potions which I will give you directly; you must make sure not to leave them near Hermione, Sirius. Keep them locked securely somewhere and only remove one at a time, when it is time to take them."
Pulling a cloth bag from her black bag, she handed it to Sirius. "The blue ones are relaxant potions," she told him, "the orange ones are nutrient potions and the green ones are sleeping potions. I have also included two vials of the Laevo solution (a heavy sedative), but you are only to use it in the most dire and absolute extremity. Do you understand? Now, you are to give her one of the relaxants as soon as she wakes, and one of the nutrient potions. When it is time to sleep, she is to take half a sleeping potion."
Casting a worried glance at the room behind her, she turned to Remus. "Can you take me home? I must return to St Mungo's and finish my shift. I will be back tonight. If you have need of me in the meantime, fetch me immediately."
With that, she clutched the werewolf's arm and the two of them disappeared.
Leaving the animagus alone with the wounded woman in the next room, the woman he would have lost, had not fate intervened. Thinking about how easily he might never have seen her again, he suddenly had to go and look on her, to physically see her and make sure she was still there.
Taking a deep breath, Sirius slowly turned and entered Hermione's room, stopping just inside the doorway.
The first thing he noticed was that the room was spotless once more.
Blood's gone, he noticed numbly. Andromeda must have cleaned it.
But he wouldn't forget the sight of the room drenched in blood.
He couldn't.
The second thing he noticed was how small Hermione looked, curled in a ball in the abnormally large bed. She seemed so small, so frail- but her chest still rose and fell. She was still alive, still breathing.
He wasn't sure how long he stood there, watching her; it seemed like no time at all. So intent was he on his watch that he didn't notice Remus returning to the flat, nor did he notice Tonks arriving with him. He didn't notice them look at him for a time before simply sinking onto a couch in the living room, Remus with his head in his hands and Tonks sniffling into a handkerchief.
He simply stood and he watched, and felt. For the first time since he had found her, he let his body react.
First he shook.
Then he was overtaken by an icy calm. That lasted for quite a while before being overtaken by grief.
A deep, heart-wrenching grief that felt as though his heart had been carved out of his chest.
He loved Hermione as he had loved few other people in his life, and the prospect of losing her was unbearable. He had lost James, his brother. He had lost Lily, lovely Lily, the sister he had adored. He had lost Peter to his treachery. Only Moony (and to a certain extent Tonks, as he got to know her) and Harry were left- and Hermione.
Hermione, who had found him the day he stumbled back into the land of the living. Hermione who had nursed him back to health and held him and stayed through nightmares for months on end. Hermione who had saved his godson countless times. Hermione who had almost died to save Harry. Hermione who had accepted Moony as he was, fur and all. Hermione who fought for the downtrodden.
Hermione whom he loved.
It was that thought that jolted him out of his reverie. He noticed absently that it was starting to get dark and that his body was stiff from standing so still for so long.
But those were minor concerns in light of the revelation he had just had.
For he loved Hermione, had done for quite some time. It had been growing as their relationship strengthened and grew.
That was why his relationship with Lira could not have worked, irrespective of her betrayal- for how could he love another when Hermione was first in his heart?
He suddenly snorted. How ironic that he should finally recognise his love for this woman now, when she was lying in her bed having almost died.
What good would his love do her now?
What good would my love do her anyway? He asked himself scornfully. It would repulse and disgust her, that a man so much older than her thought of her that way. She could never love me that way.
Had things been different, had he not almost lost Hermione, he probably would have tried to fight it, to ignore his own conclusion.
But the shock of almost losing her had been great, and he was too numb and too tired to be anything other than honest with himself.
For all the good it will do, he told himself. Even if she could grow to care for me like that, she's in no fit state to deal with this nonsense. This is no time for that! Stop being selfish and focus on Hermione.
He stood for a while longer, watching as the potion wore off and the young witch slowly stirred into wakefulness. He watched as she began to toss and turn, whimpering.
God only knew what horrors her mind was tormenting her with.
Before he really knew what he was doing, he slowly entered the room and made his way over to the bed. Almost automatically, he carefully sat on the bed, removed his shoes and then crawled across to the restless young woman, hesitantly slipping an arm around her.
It seemed to settle her slightly, so he held her, just as she had held him through his nightmares.
Her closeness seemed to help; as long as she was there, warm and real in his arms, he knew she was safe. He wouldn't let go of her for even a moment; he couldn't, because if he did, he might begin to worry that somehow, she had slipped away. Feeling her breathing against him meant that she was still with him.
He didn't know how long they lay like that, his mind churning numbly through the day's happenings again and again, but slowly, worn out with shock and grief, his eyes began to close and he fell asleep, clutching the young witch tightly to him.
From the doorway, a silent Remus watched. After he had brought Tonks here, she had cried herself out on hearing the news, and had fallen asleep on the couch. Remus, however, was restless. Knowing that Sirius would be with Hermione, he had made his way to her room and watched. He watched the various expressions flickering across his brother's face, and he had watched raven-haired man as he gently clasped the young witch to him.
He was fairly certain he knew how Sirius felt about Hermione. Come to that, he was fairly certain that Hermione returned those feelings in some form, although he doubted that either one had admitted it to themselves.
In another time, another place, Remus would have teased Sirius about those feelings and helped his brother to deal with the difficult business of falling in love with a much younger woman. However, now…..now all he could do was hope that they would be able to help Hermione, to bring her back from the edge of the abyss.
He doubted Sirius would say anything about his feelings now, or that Hermione would be in a position to comprehend them. They had to get past the crisis first, and after that, well…..they would deal with that as it happened.
He knew that Sirius in particular, though, would be integral to Hermione's healing. The two had a special closeness, a special bond, which enabled them to reach one another on a level that no one else could.
And God knows that when Hermione wakes, someone will have to reach her, if she's going to get through this. Someone has to reach her. Somehow.
But for now, they both took some much-needed sleep.
And so Remus watched.
Hermione's Room, Two Hours Later
Hermione stirred, drifting slowly into wakefulness. She tried to turn on to her side, only to find that she was pinned under something quite heavy. Or rather, someone. The scent lingering in her nostrils, however, was very familiar. Sirius must have fallen asleep next to her.
At that thought, Hermione's eyes flew open and she became fully awake, panic settling in as memories of the past few hours washed over her.
Sirius… he had walked in on her. He had seen her punishment. She had been so close to ending it all and finding release and he had stopped her, he hadhealed her and taken her knife. She wasn't angry at him, exactly, but she couldn't help but think he had taken away her chance at peace and release, and whilst she would never resent him, she couldn't help but resent his actions and feel mortified that he had seen her in such a state.
Why did he have to do that? She thought desperately. Why did he have to see? What must he think of me now? God, how will I face him? Now know he knows just how pathetic I am.
Suddenly, however, a horrifying thought struck her.
He healed me, she panicked, shifting to try and see her left arm. He used a healing spell! I don't deserve healing! I need punishment, I need my knife! Oh good God, he's touching me! He shouldn't touch me! I'm dirty, contaminated, oh why won't he let GO?
Her repeated attempts to move inevitably woke her companion, who sat up with a gasp.
"Hermione, love, what is it? Are you alright? Are you in pain?"
Are you in pain?
Hermione froze. His question made her feel as though she had been punched in the gut and couldn't breathe.
Are you in pain?
Yes! She wanted to cry. I am in pain! It hurt; feeling like this hurt, being like this hurt. Her arm hurt from her punishments, the sick feeling in her gut at what she did to herself hurt; everything hurt. She was hurt and she was tired.
But somehow, the words wouldn't come out, wouldn't form. So instead, she swallowed and tried to blink away the tears before shifting onto her right side. She didn't want him to see her, didn't want to see him, to look and see the disappointment and disgust that must be there.
She curled into the foetal position and stared blankly at the wall, waiting for to hear the sound of his footsteps as he left the room after her none-too-subtle dismissal.
Instead, she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, causing her to squirm. The hand, however, was firm, and after several attempts to shake it off, another hand joined it and flipped her gently onto her back.
Hermione shook with repressed emotion.
Stop touching me, don't touch me, he shouldn't touch me, she babbled in her mind. I'm bad, ruined, evil, he oughtn't to touch me!
"Love?" The raven-haired man asked quietly, his voice shaking slightly. "Does your arm hurt?"
Hermione shook her head, unable to speak.
"Then what is it? Does something else hurt?"
The young witch shook her head once more, trembling at his hands on her shoulders. She tried once more to pull away, and this time, the sober man seemed to get the point, because he slowly drew his hands away from her, but sat where he was looking at her with hurt in his grey eyes.
"Does my touch repulse you so much, then?"
Hermione's eyes grew wide, and Sirius seemed to shake himself.
"I'm sorry, love, now isn't the time for this. If you prefer someone else, I can run outside and get Tonks or Moony…." He trailed off, as her eyes seemed to have gotten bigger and she was shaking her head almost violently.
"You…don't want me to get them?"
Another violent shake.
"Alright, love," he tried to sooth her, "I won't get them. You don't have to see anyone you don't want to. I just thought that if my being here bothered you, that you might want someone else…no?" He asked, watching her shake her head again. "Love, please talk to me. Please!" He reached for her only to draw away helplessly as she flinched.
"I'm sorry, I forgot….I...I'm just not used to you fearing my touch," he rasped, trying to swallow his hurt at the thought.
Come on, Hermione, her mind whispered. Put him out of his misery. He thinks you're repulsed by him; tell him the truth! Tell him you're tainted, dirty…tell him he ought not to touch you. Tell him! He shouldn't suffer for your own failure.
Forcing herself to speak, her voice emerged in a strained whisper. "It's me."
Sirius shook his head in bewilderment. "What's you?"
Swallowing, Hermione tried again. "You shouldn't touch me, because of me. Not you."
"What?" He stared. "I don't understand."
Just say it! Her mind told her. He's already seen the worst. Just tell him. He'll want to leave and then you can finish this pathetic excuse for an existence.
Taking a deep breath, the young witch tried to explain, almost afraid to see his reaction. "It's bad for you."
"Bad for me? How?"
"Because," she whispered tearfully, "I'm tainted. You shouldn't touch me. No one should."
With that, she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to keep the tears at bay. She didn't want to cry, or he would feel obliged to stay and look after her.
To her utter shock, however, there was no sound of retreating footsteps. Instead, she felt two hands cup her face oh-so-gently. She nearly wept at the gentleness with which he touched her face. His grey eyes bored into her own, full of compassion and something she couldn't quite grasp.
"You are not tainted," he whispered fiercely. "Why would you ever think that?"
Hermione shook her head violently, denying what he was saying. "Tainted," she whispered, "tainted, corrupted…..evil. You shouldn't touch me Sirius. You shouldn't!"
He said nothing and continued to cup her face so gently, it almost made her weep.
You don't deserve that, the voice told her.
The room was silent for a moment, before flinched suddenly.
"The punishments…." He whispered hoarsely, "That's what you meant, isn't it? Are you punishing yourself for this…taint?"
She closed her eyes again, unable to see the pallor of his face.
"Why, Hermione?" He whispered, his voice almost breaking. "Why?"
Why?
The question she had been dreading. How could she tell this handsome, worthwhile, kind man that it was because she deserved it? That she had to do it or else that wretched voice in her mind would drive her mad?
She couldn't answer; she just couldn't. She couldn't tell him. She was already horrified that he had seen. She just wanted him to leave so his caring eyes wouldn't haunt her anymore and she could just get on with it.
The final punishment.
"It doesn't matter," she whispered, "it's nothing."
"Nothing?" He stared at her. "Hermione, you almost died! You….you made yourself almost die. How can you say it doesn't matter?"
"Please", she begged, feeling the familiar feelings of loathing slowly start to build up. "Please just go."
"No."
His reply was short and to the point.
"Go!" She said a little more forcefully. "I don't want you to see," she added in a whisper. "Please, Sirius, just leave me be."
"You think I would leave you when I know you'll likely take a knife to your wrist the moment I'm gone?" His voice did break that time. "You think I could leave you after I found you like… like that? I can't, love, I just can't! Do you understand what it did to me? To see you like that?"
Her eyes grew wide. Was he crying? Sirius never cried!
But he was. Tears ran down his face as he turned to look her full in the face.
"I can't leave you, Hermione. If anything were to happen to you….I can't! Don't ask that of me, please! For the love of Merlin, please! Ask for anything but that."
"Sirius…" she begged. "Please."
He fixed his eyes on her and she was shocked at the swirling emotions they contained. "Don't ask me to stand back and let you die, because I won't! Do you understand me? I love you too much for that!"
Her eyes grew wide. He loves me? He can't! Why would he? He must only mean as a friend…..but why would he even say that? I'm nothing, and no one.
And that was the crux of the matter: no one could really love her for she was unlovable and repulsive.
"No, you can't! You can't love me! I'm evil, tainted, worthless…you can't love me! No one can!"
"You're not any of those things," he told her pleadingly, his hands trembling. "You're not! You are beautiful and kind and intelligent and loved! Please, Hermione, please, if ever I meant anything to you, don'tsay those things about yourself! Don't even think them!"
Hermione shook her head in agony. He was saying things her soul yearned for, that her tortured mind craved…but the voice said otherwise and the racket was enough to drive her to distraction.
She trembled with the effort of trying deal with the conflicting thoughts and emotions, all the while screaming for help on the inside.
Sirius seemed understand, on some level, that she was fighting herself, because he slid his arms about her and buried his face in her hair.
"I don't care what happens, I am not leaving you, do you understand me, Hermione? I. AM. NOT. LEAVING. I'll stay with you and help you and care for you until you are well and happy and never doubt yourself again!"
His large frame shook as he held her, confronted again by how close he had come to losing her- and how easily he could still lose her even now.
Hermione was shocked at Sirius' reaction. He almost never lost his cool like this. How could he possibly feel this strongly about her?
He doesn't, the voice whispered. It's just shock at seeing you covered in blood. It will wear off soon enough.
"Sirius," she whispered, uncertain of what she ought to say. Surely, he should not be upsetting himself over her like this- she wasn't worth it.
However, at that moment, a soft knock caused them both to look up.
"Please excuse me for intruding," Remus said quietly. Hermione noticed that his eyes were red and his face subdued. She suddenly remembered that Sirius said Remus and Tonks were here.
Oh God…. She thought in panic and shame, does that mean they know about….everything?
How would she ever face them?
To say nothing of Sirius- she could not even look him in the eye…
Remus' voice brought her back to the present. "Andromeda is here, and she would like to examine you, Hermione."
The young witch's eyes grew wide even as Remus disappeared from the doorway.
Andromeda? Here? Does EVERYBODY know? Oh God, when will this nightmare end?
A few moments later, the older witch briskly entered the room with her black leather Healer's bag.
"Sirius, if you don't mind waiting outside, please."
Looking very much as though he wanted to argue, the black-haired animagus instead swallowed heavily and smiled a watery smile at the young witch. Dropping a soft kiss on her forehead, he slid across the bed and made his way quietly out of the room, closing the door behind him.
The middle aged woman turned a gently smile to Hermione. "I know it must be somewhat of a shock to find me and indeed the others here, but they are immensely concerned for your health, Miss Granger."
Hermione wasn't entirely sure what she ought to say to that, so she settled for polite nod, even as her mind shrieked at her to get away, far away, that this woman would interfere with her punishments and administer treatments she didn't deserve.
"Now, to be frank, I am concerned by a number of scans I ran whilst you were unconscious." Seeing that she finally had Hermione's full attention, she pressed on. "It would appear that you are under the influence of at least one mood modifying potion."
"W-what?" the young witch croaked, whilst the voice continued to lambast her for the shame of her current position. Her mind sharpened at the thought that she had an unknown drug coursing through her veins. "I've never taken a mood modifier."
"Never?" the healer clarified.
"Never," came the whispered reply.
The older witch frowned. "Then perhaps you will permit me to run some further scans to identify the potion?"
What could Hermione do but nod?
A few minutes later, a heavily frowning Andromeda turned to the young witch.
"I am afraid, Miss Granger, that you seem to have been dosed with large quantities of the Humilitas draught. For a period of no less than about two years. Judging by the state of the residue, I would say that it occurred approximately six to seven years ago."
"Humilitas?" Hermione whispered, frowning as she tried to think through her exhaustion and recall all she had learned of the draught. "Isn't it likely to have simply made me very humble? Surely it isn't that damaging."
The older witch sighed. "I wish that were the case, Miss Granger. Humilitas is a particularly…potent…draught. In small quantities over a limited period of time, it can cause individuals with rather…excessive….self-esteem to calm themselves and become more humble. In cases where there is no such self-esteem, however, the results are far more catastrophic. The drug wears away at the mind, eating away at the person's self-regard, self-esteem and self-awareness, and can even cause severe self-hatred if taken for long enough. It is a very dangerous drug to take without proper supervision. Many subjects who have dosed themselves ended up as you did earlier this afternoon," the older woman spelled out.
Hermione simply stared at the older witch, not knowing what to say.
Seeing this, the Healer took pity on her and continued. "I suspect that your mind has been becoming more and more aware of faults you possess? That it has been becoming more and more impossible to silence these thoughts?"
A single nod.
"As you see, the effects are self-perpetuating. Whilst the mind is not my specialty, I know that this draught can have far reaching effects, and often results in rationality and irrationality coexisting together in the mind. However, eventually, the irrational begins to poison the mind to the extent where there is insufficient will left to fight it..." The older woman trailed off meaningfully, looking at the dazed expression on the young woman's face.
Is it true? Hermione wondered. Can it be that this….this nightmare is not of my own making, that it's the potion causing this?
Of course it's not true, the voice whispered. The potion didn't cause anything other than what was already there. This is all you! You are a mess and you're just looking to blame it on someone else!
Hermione buried her head in her hands, uncertain what she should believe. On the one hand, her rational mind, pushed further and further into a corner, was shouting at her to listen to Andromeda. Hell, Hermione herself was no slouch with potions- she knew what they could do. On the other hand, the dark voice in her mind was insistent that it was all her fault, that it was nothing to do with the potion.
What to believe, which voice to listen to…..it was too much, and worse still was the shame; the ever-present, debilitating shame that she carried around with her at what she had done, what she had become.
Or was it her? Perhaps, the small voice in her mind whispered, it wasn't her, perhaps it really was the potion.
Or was she just looking for excuses?
The constant warring in her mind was tiring and she wanted to make it stop, to make it all go away.
If only she had her knife….
Andromeda seemed to notice that her patient was in some distress and gently laid a hand on her shoulder, bringing her back to the present.
"Miss Granger…..Hermione? Can you hear me?"
The young witch drew a shuddering breath and nodded.
"Very well. I realise this is distressing for you, but I need you to trust me- this potion has caused significant damage to you and it must be addressed as soon as possible. Ordinarily, I would suggest the immediate administration of the cleansingdraught, however, your body is somewhat weakened and has started drawing on your magical core to survive."
Hermione started at that.
"This is obviously very serious, and so I think it best to consult with a mind specialist whether or not there is a larger risk in waiting for a few days to administer the draught. Healer Daniella Andretti will be arriving in a few minutes, should you agree to see her." She looked directly at the young witch. "Do you consent to her being brought here? I must warn you that, in your current state, should you refuse, I would be obliged by my oaths as a healer to take you to a specialist facility, because you are still in grave danger. Sirius felt that you would prefer this option and wanted to enable you to be treated at home."
A mind healer? Do I really want to see her? What can she do to help? She won't understand, she couldn't possibly know what it's like. What if she makes it worse? What if she thinks I'm insane and has me committed? I'm not insane….am I? I don't even know, anymore. What if…..what if I trust her and then she can't help? I don't know if I could bear to get my hopes up like that and then be disappointed.
But on the other hand…..
A facility? An insane asylum! They can call it what they want, they want to put me in an asylum! But I'm not crazy, I'm NOT! They can't make me go, they can't! I won't go! They'll just drug me and leave me dazed for months until I'm not even a real person anymore. I'll just be a vegetable. No life, no emotions….
She began to panic slightly, and her body to tremble, as her mind ripped her apart with its accusations and uncertainty.
Andromeda saw this, and, remembering Remus' words when he had brought her here, did the only thing she could to calm Hermione without potions.
She crossed the room quickly and opened the door. "Sirius? Sirius! I need you in here."
The words were hardly out of her mouth before the animagus was entering the room and running to Hermione.
Taking the trembling witch in his arms, he turned to his cousin and gestured towards the door. Giving a nod, she left the room and closed the door behind her.
"Love?" He whispered hoarsely, holding her to him. "Love, come on, come back to me…please, love, come back to me!"
Hermione continued to tremble, seemingly unaware of his presence.
What do I do? He agonized. He had to snap her out of this before it got worse. But how?
Following his gut, he pulled her into his arms and carried her to the bed, where he sat and placed her on his lap.
"Come on, love," he whispered, rubbing her back. "Come back to me." He dropped a kiss on her forehead and another on her nose, rubbing her back all the while.
Amazingly, it seemed to work. Hermione seemed to become aware of him, whilst her body continued to tremble.
"Please," she whimpered. "Don't make me go! I don't want to be drugged. Don't make go to that place!"
Place? She must mean the facility.
"Don't worry, my love," he whispered, "I won't make you go anywhere, if you'll just let me bring someone to help you here! I don't want you to go there, I want you here, in your own home."
The young witch continued to shake, looking pleadingly at him.
"Please! It's too much….please don't make me!"
His heart broke at her pleading. "Love, I don't want to hurt you, I don't want you to be afraid, but please, let me help you! Let me bring the Healer here, and you won't have to go anywhere! Please, let me help you."
Hermione was torn. What were her choices? The Healer or an asylum. Some choice.
She didn't want either one. She wanted to be left alone to continue living her life as she saw fit. No one had the right to tell her what to do.
What life? the small voice whispered. You call this a life? Hiding in your room, barely hanging on from one cutting to another? Trying to distance yourself from everyone? You call this a life?
But still, she thought desperately, why were they trying to push her. Why couldn't they just let it go?
However, even she knew, in some part of her mind, that they couldn't let it go, that this wasn't some kind of game. This was serious.
Her life hung in the balance.
Unable to face that, Hermione tried to think in terms of options. If she went to the asylum (for that is what it always be in her mind, no matter what anybody else said), she would have little to no choice about anything. However, if she saw the healer…..well, she didn't know what would happen. She supposed it would depend on the Healer. But it looked as though that were her only real option if she wanted to maintain any choice in her life.
What would it hurt to hear what the Healer had to say? If I don't like it….I'll find a way out. Anything is better than being locked up and drugged up.
With that, she took a shuddering breath, and tried to calm her trembling body.
She could hear this woman out. This way was better, because it was still her choice. No one would make her do anything.
Anything would be better than the alternative…..wouldn't it?
Some Gryffindor you are, she told herself scathingly. Just meet the bloody Healer and go from there. It'll get everyone off your back and you won't be an asylum. You can still find a way to do what needs to be done, if you have to, if you're at home. Just do it already! It'll calm everyone down and maybe they won't need to watch you all the time.
A smaller part of her mind quietly whispered that maybe, just maybe, it might get her out of the hell she was living in. But she really wasn't up to thinking about that.
"OK," she whispered in a small voice.
Sirius looked up quickly. "OK, you'll see the Healer?" He clarified.
She nodded tremulously. "But I won't make any promises. I'll just…..see what she says, but only if you promise not to send me away to that….that place."
The raven-haired man flinched internally. Could he make such a promise?
All he could do was be honest. "All I can promise for now is that Andromeda won't take you anywhere if you agree to see the mind Healer. I don't want you to go either, you know, love. But I have no idea what the mind Healer will recommend."
Hermione seemed to consider this. Just agree, her mind told her. There's always a way out if you don't like what she says….just do it and avoid getting us locked up.
She nodded slowly. "OK, I'll talk to her, but as I said….I…I won't make any promises."
"Alright love," the animagus replied. "That's the best I can ask for just now."
He knew she was trying to go with the least restrictive option, and that she was more than likely trying to plan a way around both the Healer and the specialist facility solutions, but at the very least, this was a first step. He hoped that perhaps this healer might be able to help Hermione, because he couldn't bear to think of the alternative.
All he could do was hope.
A/N: Ch 2 coming soon.