Alternate Universe Details: Horcruxes don't exist. Otherwise mostly compliant with canon until the end of OotP, with some exceptions that will be mentioned along the way. Partly OOC Hermione, explained by the plot.
Author's Note (March 6th, 2019): Yes, this story has a lot of reviews and very few chapters. There were once 28 chapters, but I pulled them down a few years ago so I could rewrite them (and then real life got in the way for a while). The rewrite is still in progress: chapters one and two are still being rewritten, but chapter three is the refined and polished version. I was originally planning to hold off uploading chapter three until I had finished updating the first two chapters, but I didn't want to make my followers wait any longer. So please bear in mind that the style of writing between chapters two and three will seem quite different at the moment, though I am hoping to get the original chapters updated very soon!
Please let me know your thoughts in the reviews! Leaving comments (as often as possible) is the most helpful thing you can do as a reader. The engagement really helps authors know if they are on the right track and what the interest level is. Plus, interacting with my readers is one of my favourite parts of writing fanfiction! So be sure to keep an eye on the author's notes at the beginning of each chapter if you want to see my responses to your comments! :)
Chapter One: Lethe
Pain ... indescribable pain. That's all there was. She couldn't feel her body anymore through the searing heat of agony invading her senses. There were voices around her, but they sounded muted and distant, making it impossible to understand what they were saying. The voices gave way to an eerie, nerve-stripping laughter. It sounded vaguely human, but as it grew louder, it mutated into something guttural and wrong, almost like an animal. The unbearable torment coursing through her somehow managed to intensify, jolting her brain back to life, and a startling realization crushed down upon her fragile mind. She was dying ... and she couldn't even remember why.
Shrieks of terror pierced the air, cutting off the twisted sounds of euphoria around her. The pain eased slightly, and she could detect the frantic sounds of movement nearby before she unwillingly surrendered to the encroaching darkness.
She woke to the gentle rumble of voices. The mysterious owners spoke quickly in hushed, grave tones. Her curiosity flared to life, pleading with her to investigate, but she couldn't summon enough energy to open her eyes. The thin flaps of skin that covered her eyes felt like solid sheets of steel, and she could barely recognize the weight of her limbs, let alone the sensation of what lay beneath her. Even the most simple attempts at piecing together a coherent thought took too much energy, and she drifted back into unconsciousness.
She woke again to complete silence, the type that provokes a low frequency hum to vibrate in your ears. The contrast to the voices she had overheard earlier startled her, snapping her brain into gear. Breathing deeply, she attempted to move, but her muscles burned in protest, causing her to moan.
A gasp broke the stillness, followed by the sharp scraping of a chair sliding across stone. The sound of rustling fabric filled the room as the person nearby scrambled to their feet and rushed away, their heavy footsteps echoing off the walls. The creaking of a door being pulled open drowned out the departing footfalls before the door slammed closed, silence reigning once more.
After a brief pause to audibly access the space around her, she determined that the room was empty and attempted to open her eyes. It was a mindbogglingly long process, but at least her eyelids no longer felt like metal walls. Finally able to peek through her lashes, she was greeted with near darkness, except for the gentle flickering of a torch mounted on the opposite wall. Prying her eyes open further, she slowly turned her head to the side to examine the rest of the room.
A few additional torches lined the walls, though only the one closest to her had been lit, making the dim glow of the moonlight coming through the large windows the only other source of light in the room. Thick, aged stones formed the ceiling, their high arches merging into half-columns as they connected with the wall. A small metalwork chandelier hung from the cavernous ceiling, supporting six thick unlit candles. Her eyes traveled around the room, taking in several small dividers made of green curtains, pulled across metal rods that stood between the empty beds nearby. Wait ... Beds? Blinking, she glanced down at the bed beneath her, which ─ with its crisp white linens ─ looked identical to the other beds in the room.
The door at the other end of the room crashed open, followed by the sound of many vehement footfalls. Startled, she threw her head to the other side of the bed to see several men and women clad in vibrantly colored robes. The mass of people came to a stop near her bed, close enough to get a good look while just barely keeping enough distance to avoid crowding her. Some stared with wide eyes, mouths open in shock and their hands pressed tight to their chest, while others appeared to be fighting back tears.
A series of emotions ran through her as she looked at the group of unfamiliar people: fear, anger, nervousness, confusion.
Just as the unyielding attention started to become uncomfortable, a tall, elderly man dressed in silvery-blue robes gently pressed through the mass of people, stepping up to the edge of the bed with a calm smile. The aged skin on his face gave way to soft wrinkles, and his gentle smile was framed by a lengthy, white beard that matched his long mane of hair. His blue eyes were bright behind a pair of half-moon spectacles, and they seemed to glitter with a light entirely their own.
"Welcome back, Miss Granger." The man's voice reflected his appearance: gentle, but lined with a hint of grainy resonance. He must have been expecting some sort of recognition from her, because his smile slipped away the longer she remained silent. The natural brightness of his eyes dimmed at her confused expression.
Turning to a rather tall woman standing at the edge of group, he leaned close and whispered quickly into her ear. The woman wore a deep green cloak over a set of black robes, a pinched ruche trailing down her front from her neck to her abdomen, and her graying hair had been pinned back in a tight bun. Her stern, aged face contradicted her emotional gaze as she listened intently to the man's words. She gave him a stiff nod before turning away and stepping through the group. Her fading footsteps cut through the tense atmosphere until she slipped through the door at the end of the room.
"You don't remember me, do you?" the man inquired, grabbing the girl's attention once more. She shook her head. "Most interesting," he mused under his breath. His smile reappeared as he clasped his hands together. "Not to worry, we can talk more after your inspection."
"I-Inspection?" the girl sputtered.
"Your medical inspection," he explained gently. As if beckoned by his words, another woman pushed her way through the group of onlookers, carrying a small silver tray. She walked purposefully around the bed to the other side and placed the tray on the empty nightstand next to it. "Shouldn't take long. We can talk afterwards."
"Why do I need a medical inspection?"
The man lowered his head a little to gaze at her over the top of his spectacles. His smile remained, but the light in his eyes had yet to return to its full intensity. "We can talk afterwards," he repeated slowly. Before she could ask any more questions, the man turned to the group and quietly ushered the many onlookers out of the room, closing the door behind them.
The girl turned her head to examine the woman working with the tray next to her. She wore a very simple set of crimson robes with a white, full-body apron over it. A worn metal pin had been fastened to the left hand side of her apron ─ just above her heart ─ and her curly gray hair had been pulled back under the cover of a long, white head dressing that resembled the standard nurses uniform from the 1940's. The girl watched the nurse in silence as she organized the items on the silver tray, but, after a minute with no acknowledgment from the woman, the girl pressed her palms to the bed and lifted herself into a sitting position. "I don't need an examination. I'm fine."
The nurse, finally turning to look at her, threw her a sharp glare. "I will be the judge of that. Now lay down."
"No."
The nurse let out an aggravated huff and waved dismissively in the girl's direction. "Fine. Do as you like. Dance if you want to. But you are not leaving here until I have finished looking you over." The nurse's stern tone had successfully killed any further protest building on the girl's tongue.
Dipping her hand into the pocket of the apron, the nurse retrieved a thin, elm wood stick. The body of the stick appeared lighter than the handle, the wood simulating the appearance of the ripples made in sand drifts, while the handle had been carved into a likeness similar to the columns around the room. Though it was sleek and refined in design, there was a certain aged elegance that seemed to perfectly compliment the woman wielding it. Grasping the handle with familiarity, the nurse started muttering under her breath, waving the stick between them in rhythmic patterns. She would pause in between each of the sequences to lean over the nightstand so she could write on a chart that lay on the far side of the silver tray. After several more calculated waves of the stick through the air, she stopped and eyed the girl, as if waiting for some sort of reaction. The silence stretched on as the two women held each other's gaze.
"Do you know what I am doing?" the older woman asked.
"Medical enchantments."
The nurse frowned and slightly tilted her head to the side. "And what is your name?"
The girl's mouth opened, but only due to an unexplainable reflex to answer the question. What was her name? Feeling a little stunned with her inability to provide an answer to such a simple inquiry, she closed and reopened her mouth, hoping the answer would just come out on its own. Instead, she was left staring at the woman with her jaw hanging open, like a frog who expected flies to just make themselves at home.
Clicking her tongue in response, the nurse straightened up and grabbed the chart off the tray so she could make a few additional notes. "Interesting. You know what magic is, but you can't remember your name."
"I never said I couldn't remember my name," she shot back defensively. Regardless of the fact that the nurse was right, she didn't like the feeling of vulnerability that came with admitting it.
"You didn't have to," the nurse grumbled. Without so much as a glance in response to the glare the girl shot her, the nurse continued scribbling on the chart. "You don't even know where you are, I bet."
The reflex flared to life once more, and she opened her mouth to argue, only to close it again seconds later when she couldn't figure out what to say. The nurse was right once again: she had no idea where they were. The logical part of her brain had registered the fact that she was in a hospital room, but she definitely didn't know what lay beyond the door across the room, nor had she been able to recognize any of the people who greeted her earlier. For all she knew, she could be in a mental facility. Feeling defeated, she lowered her head and let the nurse continue while she examined her fingernails.
When the medical inspection was complete, the nurse turned to the nightstand and picked up three of the seven vials available on the tray. She removed the stopper from the top of the vials and poured the contents of each into a single clear, glass goblet. The colours twisted and swirled, making an intricate pattern as they blended together.
"Drink this."
The girl glanced at the goblet, then back at the nurse with a blank expression. Did the woman think she was stupid? She had just woken up after being unconscious for an undetermined amount of time, surrounded by people she didn't know, to find herself in a mysterious hospital room, due to some unknown situation. The last thing she wanted to do was consume an unidentified beverage handed to her by someone completely foreign.
The nurse pursed her lips at the girl's hesitation before reaching out and grabbing her hand, shoving the goblet into her palm. "Honestly, child. I'm a Healer. Do you really think I would try to poison you? Now, drink."
Biting her tongue at the annoyed look on the woman's face, the girl gathered her courage and did as the nurse demanded, swallowing the concoction as quickly as possible. The smooth texture wasn't enough to make up for the abominable taste, and a shiver of disgust ran down her spine.
Content, the nurse took the goblet out of the girl's hands and placed it back on the tray with the empty vials and medical chart. "I will retrieve Professor Dumbledore now." Seeing the confused look on the girl's face, the nurse added, "The man with the white beard," before lifting the tray and sweeping from the room through the large wooden door.
The silence that filled the room was excruciating. A whole host of questions invaded the girl's brain, each one just as important as the other. What had happened to her? Was she sick? Why could she not remember anything? What was going to happen now? The longer she remained alone, the more she felt like she would start to go insane with only her unanswered questions to keep her company. Feeling incredibly restless, she tried to fight the twitching and squirming that threatened to take over her body, before settling on distracting herself with looking out through one of the large windows. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and slowly got to her feet, being careful in the event that something were to give out in the process. Her muscles were a little stiff, but the dull ache wasn't enough to dissuade her from crossing to the nearest window and peering out into the night.
The moon was almost at the peak of its cycle, and the full glory of its light easily illuminated the scenery. Glancing to the right, she saw the reflection of the moon bouncing off the surface of a nearby lake. The moon appeared to glitter as the gentle waves in the water bent and warped the reflection. Not far from the edge of the lake lay a large, deep forest. Even in the bright glow of the moonlight, the true depth of the woods couldn't be accurately determined, but there was something about it that seemed equally beautiful and foreboding. She allowed her eyes to roam free over the view, but there was nothing that she could use as a clue to figure out where she was. Though the expansive grounds boarded by the forest and lake provided a very picturesque sight, it didn't help to settle her deep desire to find out what was going on.
She had become so engaged with examining the view that she didn't hear when Dumbledore had re-entered the room, until the gentle clearing of his throat caught her attention. Startled, the girl spun around, her eyes wide from the shock of discovering that someone had been able to sneak up on her. He stood quietly, hands behind his back, watching her with great interest through his half-moon spectacles. There was no telling how long he had been standing there, silently examining her. The thought unnerved her but she started to slowly relax the longer they held each other's gaze. Something about the elderly man seemed calming and trusting, though she hadn't yet decided if that was a good thing or not.
"I assume you have some questions you would like answered," he mused in the same gentle tone he had used earlier.
"Yes." The girl returned to the bed, carefully lowering herself to sit on the edge while keeping her eyes trained on him. Dumbledore, holding her gaze in return, took a seat on the bed opposite her. She waited quietly, expecting him to begin speaking immediately, but the silence stretched on as they studied each other. A little of the twinkling light had returned to his deep blue eyes, making her feel almost naked under his gaze. It gave her the unsettling feeling of having her soul examined, and she shifted uncomfortably. "Are you waiting for me to ask or are you just going to tell me what's going on?"
"I want to see how much you remember first. Madam Pomfrey – the nurse who examined you, that is," he explained after seeing the girl's confusion, "informed me that you do seem to remember some of your magical knowledge."
"Yes."
"That's good. And what exactly about magic do you remember?"
Glad for an excuse to break their eye contact, she glanced at the floor to gather her thoughts. His gaze was so profound that it made it very hard to think within any reasonable capacity. "Everything, really." Her mind raced through what must have been the equivalent of a library's worth of magical knowledge. "Wands and their properties, the theory and application of Apparition, Floo powder and the fireplace network, curses, charms and other spells, potions and poisons, regulations of Portkey registration and creation..." The list of things she remembered could go on for days, however there did seem to be at least one hitch in her memory of all things magical. "But," She lifted her chin to match the man's gaze once more. "I don't remember how I learned it all. I just ... know."
"Fascinating."
A fierce but unexpected surge of anger swelled in her chest. It felt foreign and primal, yet also strangely natural, as if she should be able to find comfort in the building storm. Without any form of conscious decision, she allowed her mind to be seduced by the warmth of the emotion, and she clenched her hands into fists. "You all seem so interested in my misfortune," she snapped, glaring at Dumbledore.
Completely unfazed by her outburst, Dumbledore smiled. "Not at all. We are merely interested in what information you have retained since the incident."
Another biting comment had been resting on tip of her tongue, but the wizard's words pulled her up short and the remark died away. Just as quickly as the emotion had arrived, the anger running through her chilled into deep sense of dread, leaving her feeling as if a security blanket had been suddenly ripped away. A small, involuntary shiver ran through her, and she drew in a sharp breath in an attempt to steady herself from the sudden emotional shift. "What incident?"
Assessing in her reaction, the smile faded from Dumbledore's lips and he eyed her momentarily with an almost pained expression. He folded his hands, lacing his fingers together on his lap, and sighed. "I must admit, I had anticipated that you wouldn't remember what had happened, though I had hoped to be wrong." She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand to silence her. "No questions for now. Please just listen. You'll get your answers soon enough." Her jaw snapped shut. They sat in silence for a moment, her eyes searching his. She was still reeling a bit from the emotional whiplash, so she decided it would be best to just give in to his request. Slumping her shoulders slightly, she bowed her head in submission. Satisfied, Dumbledore smiled. "As Madam Pomfrey told you, I am Professor Albus Dumbledore. I am the Headmaster here." Twisting his upper body slightly, he waved his hand toward the wooden door at the end of the room. "We are at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This is where you learned your knowledge of all things magical."
Her gaze followed his gesture to the door, then she glanced around at the rows of beds around them. "And this is a medical ward?"
"Yes, this is the school infirmary. Madam Pomfrey is our resident Healer, aiding those students who are ill or injured."
The girl frowned. Whatever had happened to her, it had been intense enough to quite literally steal her identity from her, and though she knew that generally only extreme types of trauma could cause sudden memory loss, she didn't feel sick or hurt in any way. Yes, her muscles were still a little stiff, but that could be the result of all kinds of strenuous activities. There was no guarantee that the mysterious event had played a part in it, even though it did seem like the most likely reason. With absolutely no information to go by on her own, the realization of how lost she truly was, was incredibly unsettling. "Sir, how long have I been here?"
"Not all that long," he responded casually. "Just a few weeks." Her eyes widened, and Dumbledore quickly lifted his hand again to silence her. "Ah, you promised you would listen."
The heat of anger slowly started to bubble up inside her again, elicited by the headmaster's casual tone. Did he really expect her to be okay with the fact that she had been unconscious for so long? Part of her desperately wanted to give in to the heated emotion, but she resisted if only for the fact that she wanted answers that only he could provide. She took in a deep, calming breath before nodding, not trusting herself enough to speak.
Giving a nod of his own, Dumbledore continued. "You are soon to be seventeen years old and have attended this school since you were eleven. Your name is Hermione Jean Granger, and you are an only child, born of Muggle parents. I am not exactly surprised that, regardless of your amnesia, you remember so much of your studies; you have always been the brightest witch of your year." A small smile graced Hermione's lips at the compliment. "From September to June, you reside here at the school for the term, then return to your family during the summer months.
"This summer, however, you spent one month with your family before returning to the school. I had requested that you, and a few other select students who show great knowledge and promise, return to the castle early to assist the professors in their duties to prepare for the next school year. It is a fantastic way to put all that knowledge to use, and it looks very good on a resume to the Ministry," he added with a smile.
"Ministry ... of Magic." Hermione nodded lightly to herself. "Our government."
"That's correct."
"So you brought us here for an internship?"
"You could say that." Something flickered in the elder man's eyes; he was hiding something, but before Hermione could question him, Dumbledore continued. "All of you whom we had selected arrived a few weeks ago, at the end of July. There is only one week left until the new term starts and the other students will also return to Hogwarts. I am relieved that you have recovered before the start of term."
Another shiver ran its course through her body, and her hands started to shake. She couldn't understand why the mere mention of the incident seemed to affect her so strongly. Swallowing, she clasped her hands together in an attempt to control the tremors. "Recovered ... from what exactly?"
Dumbledore leaned back slightly, studying her over the top of his spectacles. "I understand the confusion is hard for you, Miss Granger, but I ask that you please do your best to calmly listen. What I am about to tell you will be difficult to process, but it cannot be taken back, so letting your emotions run away with you will do you no good."
Hermione stared at him in silence for a long time, suddenly unsure if she really wanted to know what had happened. Would the knowledge of what had shaken her to the core be a benefit? She lowered her head and silently debated whether or not to let him continue, weighing her curiosity against her fear. In the end, curiosity won out, and she let out a breath. "I'll try."
Pleased with her commitment, Dumbledore motioned towards the door at the end of the room that led to the rest of the castle. "I will need the assistance of a witness of the event for you to get all your answers. Is that all right?" She hesitated for a moment before reluctantly nodding. The headmaster smiled in response and twisted around, calling out to the closed door. "Professor Snape, could you join us, please?"
The door opened swiftly, and a tall man strode into the room. His pale skin stood in stark contrast to the all-black ensemble of a long frock coat, matching slacks, and dragon-hide boots. His jet black hair just barely brushed the top of his shoulders, framing his rather prominent features, and the deep crease resting between his brows added to his sharp and serious countenance. As he approached, stalking across the room like a predator coming for its prey, their eyes met and Hermione went stiff, staring at the man in shock. She knew him.
The headmaster caught the slight shift of her muscles tightening, and held out his arm, halting Snape's progression. "Something wrong, Miss Granger?"
Hermione's mind raced through a serious of unexplainable emotions. How did she know him? She hadn't been able to recognize any of the people who had been in the infirmary earlier. By all rights, she shouldn't know anything about the darkly clad man standing in front of her. But the longer she stared at him, the more confident she became in the knowledge that she truly did know him. Suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable, she lowered her head to avert her eyes from the two men watching her. "Severus Snape."
Her hushed tone carried clearly through the room and there was a moment of tense silence.
"You remember him?" Dumbledore gently inquired.
"Not exactly." Hermione shifted uncomfortably. Snape's lingering presence had somehow managed to spark her unnatural anger again, only this time the emotion felt more like a protective strategy than a comfort. She kept her gaze focused on the stone floor, which seemed to help to calm the storm within slightly. "I don't remember him. I just ... know him."
After another moment of strained silence, the headmaster cleared his throat and carried on with the explanation, almost as if the jolt in Hermione's memory had never happened. "A few weeks ago, about a day or two after you returned to Hogwarts, you and the other students were asked to go into the Forbidden Forest to help restock on Potions ingredients. Normally, the forest is forbidden to students, as it can be very dangerous, but several of the professors were accompanying you and your peers on this venture."
Hermione's eyes remained on the stone beneath her feet. Dumbledore's dismissal of what just happened seemed deliberate but Hermione didn't question it. In an attempt to distract herself from her racing emotions, she latched on to the headmaster's words and glance up, turning her head to look at one of the nearby windows.
"Yes," Dumbledore pressed on, answering her unspoken question, "that is the Forbidden Forest."
"Seems a bit ... unwise to have a dangerous forest right on school property, doesn't it?" she pressed softly.
"Well, Miss Granger, the forest was here long before Hogwarts was built; it had claim to this land first. That, and the founders of the school didn't see the point in destroying a rather useful bit of nature that was so conveniently right next to where they planned to build the castle."
A tingle of awareness tickled at her senses, and she turned her head to find Snape's gaze trained on her. The resentment she had been trying to hold back since he had entered the room finally broke through her barriers and she locked eyes with him, piercing Snape with a sharp glare. She couldn't explain why she felt so much ire torward him, but one things was sure: she really abhorred him. A heartbeat later, his impassive expression morphed into a sneer and he crossed him arms tightly across his chest. His menacing stance was clearly meant to intimidate her, but she didn't even flinch as their eyes continued to burn into one another.
Dumbledore glanced between the two of them. "As I was saying," he continued, clearing his throat to break the tension, "at some point, though we don't know when, you separated from the others. I am still unsure how. You are quite a sensible young woman, and I don't think you would choose to wander the forest alone." Hermione turned her gaze back to the headmaster as he spoke, more than happy to ignore Snape once more. "After you had been missing for a short time, Professor Snape took notice of your absence from the group and tried to locate you. Thankfully, he was successful."
"You were barely alive," Snape cut in, speaking for the first time since entering the room. His voice was deep and carried an unusual natural vibration, much like a gentle hum. He spoke softly and at a practiced pace, ensuring that every word would be correctly received. "You had been attacked by a group of half-vampires. They were too caught up in their ... activities with you to notice my arrival. They fled rather quickly when I made my presence known." Despite having thrown all notions of subtlety to the wind, his tone remained constant and his face had turned expressionless again.
A shiver ran down Hermione's back. Half-vampires? She didn't even know such a creature existed. Her emotions whipped around again, and a deep cold settled in instead, leaving her feeling like someone had pumped ice water straight in her veins. Though the intense fear suddenly coursing through her was not enough to shake her unexplainable dislike for Snape, she had no choice but to privately acknowledge that she would likely be dead without his help. "So you brought me here," she whispered, avoiding his eyes.
"Eventually. I did what healing I could first."
The chill she felt inside intensified, making her feel as though her lungs were being squeezed. She folded forward and placed her head in her hands, gently rubbing her temples in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure trapped inside. Between the revelation of her near death experience and her uncontrollable emotions, it was all took much to handle. She wanted to send them away. She didn't want to hear any more about what had happened. Yet, there was still that small part of her that remained endlessly curious and refused to be silenced until she fed it just a little bit more. Head still resting in her hands, she sighed. "Am I ... not human anymore?"
"Yes and no," Dumbledore replied gently. "You are half-human now. The transition took place while you were unconscious."
"Transition?" Hermione peered over her hands at Dumbledore.
"Half-breed vampires carry venom much like full vampires," Snape spoke up, "but the venom reacts differently. It's not nearly as powerful, so it doesn't kill the victim. It is the half-vampire's responsibility to kill the victim themselves. If they don't, they risk the venom spreading to live tissue, which would cause the victim to become partially converted. The venom is only strong enough to target certain areas of the body." Snape's explanation sounded like it had jumped out of a text book. His words lacked any air of feeling or sensitivity.
"So I am like them now?" she snapped, frustrated with his disregard for the situation.
"No. Those who are half-breeds by venom, not birth, don't have the same venom as those born. The venom you will produce during a feed will merely be like a euphoric drug, causing your victim to enjoy being your meal."
"Victim?" she hissed. "I'm going to start killing people?"
"Nonsense," Dumbledore interjected with a gentle wave of his hand. "Your desire for blood will never be quite that strong."
Sneering, Snape shot the headmaster a glare. "However," he harshly cut in, sounding highly annoyed at headmaster's attempt to soften the explanation, "you will need a supply of blood from time to t─"
"Stop!" Hermione snapped, her voice echoing off the aged stone walls. "Just ... stop." The professors fell silent, their eyes trained on her as she lowered her head into her hands again, running her fingers deep into her hair. Snape's words invaded her mind: 'your victim', 'the venom you will produce', 'supply of blood'. His dark voice bounced around in her head, the words slicing the soft tissue of her brain like razors. "I don't want to hear any more ... I can't handle this right now." Her head hurt so bad that she could barely see, and her body trembled with the force of her anxiety. "I didn't ask for this," she whispered, rocking back and forth on the bed.
Dumbledore leaned forward and extended his arm toward her. "Miss Granger─"
"I said no! Leave me alone!"
Dumbledore' hand paused in mid-air, halfway between them. The air around them suddenly become thick and weighted, like some sort of dark aura had to leech into the room. A single glance at Snape told the headmaster that Hermione's outburst wasn't entirely unexpected. Without a second of hesitation, Snape slowly and smoothly stepped back from her and motioned with his head for Dumbledore to follow his lead. The headmaster's gaze momentarily shifted back to the troubled Gryffindor before silently following Snape. Once they had retreated to the door, Snape leaned toward him.
"I warned you," he bit out in a harsh whisper.
"Yes, you did," Dumbledore muttered sadly, a deep frown overtaking his aged features. Sighing, the headmaster turned back toward Hermione. "I understand that it is a lot to take in, Miss Granger. We will give you some time to think. Let Madam Pomfrey know if you need anything."
With that, the professors swiftly slipped out of the infirmary, the sound of the heavy wooden door echoing off the walls as it closed behind them. Unable to hold it back any longer, Hermione gave in to the emotions that felt like they were trying to tear her apart from the inside. Her body trembled violently as she curled up in the fetal position on the mattress, burying her face into the soft linens and crying, mourning the life she couldn't remember.
