Chapter 2 – Behind the Wall

Hermione was lying on her simple bed at the infirmary. Her skin was pale and her eyes were surrounded by dark rings, like coffee mug splotches on a white tablecloth. If her covers hadn't been rising slightly and regularly on her chest as she breathed, one would have easily mistaken her to be dead. Dumbledore gently took her fragile hand that was resting on the blanket and stroked her cold fingers tenderly with his thumb.

"Anything new, Poppy?" he quietly asked the nurse, who was very focused on measuring potions in different vials and pouring exact amounts of them into small dosage cups on Hermione's bedside table.

"She has not yet slept one moment of natural sleep. I have tried every possible combination of valerian, hop, lavender, camomile, and even passion flower and lemon balm." Pomona didn't have any other suggestions except for verbena.

"With Filius's assistance we even tried some sleeping charms, but her body seemed to resist them so vigorously that it only made the tension worse in her muscles. The only thing that's helped her reach an unconscious state has been a very potent mixture of Draught of Living Death. But because it only affects her physical body and does not create the natural relaxation that comes with good sleep, we can't use it much longer. In a couple of weeks it would make her…well, a living dead."

As Madam Pomfrey was mapping Hermione's state to Dumbledore, a tall and dark figure, standing at the back of the room, stepped closer to her bed and said with great authority:

"It would be irresponsible and purely stupid to continue her treatment with that draught. I left a vial on your desk. The potion in it will help her nervous system to be undamaged in spite of her lack of sleep. Six drops every seventh hour should be enough."

Professor Snape measured Hermione's brittle being with his gaze, but his facial expressions left it impossible to decipher what was going on in his mind. Professor Dumbledore bent closer to the girl's face and shook her hand, which he was still holding in his warm grip, gently.

"Miss Granger, Hermione, I know you are awake," he said, trying to penetrate the invisible wall around her with his voice. "Squeeze my hand if you hear what I'm saying, please." Silence, heavy with expectation, filled the room. Professor Snape threw a questioning glance towards the old Headmaster.

"No reaction, nothing. I'm not sure if she doesn't hear or doesn't understand. Or maybe she is just too weak to move her fingers."

*

Though Severus Snape was a tough man, boiled hard with all the adversities of the wretched world, and by no means could he have been described as benevolent or caring, he couldn't help himself for becoming distraught by seeing that young woman, once so hearty and persistent, become so fragile and withered. At first, when Dumbledore had asked for his help, he had furiously refused. He was certain that any other person would be better, more suitable, and above all, more eager to take part in that Gryffindor girl's treatments than himself, but when he had seen with his own eyes how close she was to her final breakdown, he promised to think of ways to get her better and back to her N.E.W.T.s as soon as possible.

If anyone, it was Severus who knew that depression was a grave disease, and without proper care, it often led to premature death. However, in the wizarding society it was very uncommon and, to most, an unknown concept. During that hour he had spent with Dumbledore by her bedside, she had once opened her eyes. And for a second, in their bottomless murkiness, he had recognised himself. For an overflying moment he had seen a familiar glimpse of his own eyes, which had stared back at him from a mirror years ago. And there was no one to help him back then…

Severus tore himself away from those memories and headed determinedly towards the staircase. He spent the whole night wandering along the lengthy and dusty aisles of the library, dangling his dim lantern in his hand and swiping Mr Filch's beloved, grey striped cat with a hem of his robe as it dared to come too close to him.

*
In the morning Severus woke up at his desk with a start. The large, dark, oak table exuding masculine authority was all covered with numerous of books and disordered pieces of parchment. He had fallen asleep in a half-lying position on an open book that was all about powered liquids and potions. His neck gave a wicked twinge when he tried to straighten himself. Regardless of the pain caused by sleeping in a draughty room, in a lousy position, he stood up promptly and strode straight to his own personal chambers. There he quickly set the fire in his massive fireplace and, in no time, stepped out of the hearth into Dumbledore's office. He shook the soot off his clothes, and, without any proper good morning greetings, cut straight to the chase.

A/N:
Huge thanks to my Beta mystical spirits! She did a wonderful job. If you find any mistakes, they're all mine and mine alone. This chapter was very short and so is the next one, because at first they were one chapter. There were certain reasons to cut it in half. They'll get longer, I promise!