Hydrotherapy
A Harry Potter fanfic by canoncansodoff
Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.
Chapter 2: Fleshing out the idea
oo00OO00oo
The words written upon the scrap of parchment that sat on Hermione's pillow simply said, "With Harry."
Septima Vector sighed, and wondered whether the young witch realized the double meaning within her message.
She sat up, and cast a quick Tempus spell. That, and a moment's review of how she had slept suggested that she'd gotten four and a half hours of unremarkable sleep. This was remarkable in and of itself...it would have the first time she hadn't recalled waking at least once during the night within her shared bed. There hadn't been any nightmares to soothe, no waking up in the middle of the night to readjust her straying hands or (conversely) to relish where Hermione's had slipped during her sleep.
Was time a more complex variable when it came to Hermione's quality of sleep? Probably, which threw the equation that she'd developed to quantify that quality of sleep out the window:
y equals 2atan( det(c1,c2,f2,f1)x + b )/pi
Where:
x time spent in shared bed
f1 frequency of Hermione's loving thoughts of the other person
f2 frequency of Hermione's negative thoughts of the other person
c1 dimension-less amorous constant
c2 dimension-less loathing constant
b sleep quality alone
y sleep quality together
With sleep quality being a dimensionless quantity ranging from -1 (worst possible) to 1 (best possible).
Perhaps the increasing number of days spent sharing a bed could be incorporated into f1 and f2...Hermione's feelings for Septima would be time dependent...and grow incrementally over time. Or, grow less, were she sleeping with somebody that she liked less and less the more time she spent with them.
The Arithmancy shook her head dismissively. She was doing it again...trying to break down her personal relationships into arithmatic equations. What worked when she was observing others went straight to the rubbish bin once she looked inward. And time spent pondering the whys and wheres of that fact could be spent bettering her relationship with her bedmate in a less elegant, but far more productive way...bolstering her "f1" value in Hermione's eyes.
And helping Hermione determine what the "f" factors were for the wizard whom she'd left Septima's bed to visit.
The Slytherin voice within Septima's mind scowled at that last goal, and suggested that the Sorting Hat should have sorted her a Puff. It did, admittedly, seem counterintuitive...she was helping Hermione save the life of the one she feared her love loved more. Better, from a purely selfish standpoint, to not be so helpful searching for a cure...better to keep Harry packed in mud and out of Hermione's bed.
But not at the cost of his life. There was also the "MBW" or "most brilliant witch" factor to consider. Hermione would know if Septima didn't give her best effort at finding the Arithmantic pathway towards that spell. And since Septima had been upfront with her belief that Hermione thought of Harry as more than just a "best friend," she'd conjur up the most likely reason for that lackluster effort...and would never forgive the older witch for it.
So it was counterintuitive, but the only path forward...do her best to help Hermione save Harry, and give Hermione the opportunity to constrain variables. Vector could only pray to the goddesses that her "f" factors were ultimately more favorable than Harry Potter's.
Although it might not hurt to do a bit more...
Septima bounced out of bed and started a list:
Top Ten Ways to Maximize f1 and Minimize f2
1) Help with the spell work, or whatever else Hermione needs to save Harry's life;
2) Pray;
3) Wear something that might catch Hermione's eye;
4) Stop by the kitchens on her way to the Hospital Wing, and pick up Hermione's preferred morning tea and breakfast foods;
5) Try not to act like a giggling love-sick school girl around Hermione;
6) Try not to act like a predatory old hag;
6) Brush;
7) Floss;
8) Keep my hands from straying too often;
9) Let my hands stray enough for her to know that I'm interested;
10) Stop adding to this list and start doing what's been listed.
With that last item in mind, the Arithmancy professor dropped her quill onto her night stand, stripped off her t-shirt and knickers, and padded off to her showers. "Smelling fresh and clean" wasn't on the list she'd just compiled, but that didn't mean it wasn't a good idea. And if the magical shower heads could help her take the edge off of the frustration that came from sleeping with someone she lusted for without really "sleeping" with her, then so much the better.
oo00OO00oo
Septima strolled into the Hogwarts Infirmary with a breakfast tray in tow, only to be disappointed when she spotted a similar tray of half-eaten breakfast foods lying on the bed next to an area hidden by drawn curtains. Poppy's doing, she imagined...Hermione wouldn't have taken the time to order the food, and the Hogwarts Matron had been chiding her over the past week to remember to eat. The Arithmancy professor sighed, and sat her own tray down so that she could join the other two, who were presently conversing within the screened-off area.
"Knock, knock?"
Hermione poked her head out from the curtains, and her facial expression brightened.
"Good morning, Septima...ooh, I like those colors on you."
"Thanks, Hermione," the older witch replied brightly. She was pleased that Hermione had noticed. According to one of her other muggleborn students, the slate blue robes that hung open over dark muggle jeans and light gray t-shirt were supposed to complement her "winter" hair color and skin tone.
"Room for me in there as well?"
Hermione ducked her head back inside the curtain for a moment to ask the Matron a question, then popped it out to say, "If you want. Just to warn you though, we've got the projection hovering."
Vector nodded. "I've seen it before, but thanks for the heads-up," she replied.
The projection that Hermione had mentioned was a magical, three-dimensional depiction of the body that was presently submerged within a bed-sized vat filled with a five-foot thick layer of mud. The warning had little to do with the fact that the green-tinged projected image showed Harry Potter's naked flesh...it was the shock of seeing the condition of that flesh that had to be guarded against.
It was hard for Septima not to turn her eyes away from the horrific sight when she slipped through the curtains, but she managed for Hermione's sake. The projection that hovered above the mud looked nothing at all like Harry Potter, beyond its length and general shape. Third-degree burns and blisters covered nearly every square inch of his body, and hid the trademark scar. The instantly recognizable mass of unruly black hair had been burnt off, along with his eyebrows, eyelashes, and body hair. This gave an appearance that Hermione had characterized as ironic, in that it looked far more like Voldemort's face than Harry's.
Vector gave a nod towards Madame Pomfrey, who was casting diagnostic spells from the foot of the vat, then turned back to Hermione.
"So how's the mud holding up?" she asked.
"Not well, I'm afraid."
In support of her assessment, Hermione pointed towards the wall above the vat, where the contents of a half-dozen charmed hour-glasses showed the amount of residual magical energy within the therapeutic mud-pack.
"Transfer rate across Harry's chest and back has dropped off significantly...the mudpack in those areas will be fully depleted sometime tomorrow evening."
"And the next layer of mud will hit the diffusion rate wall, right?"
Hermione nodded grimly.
"That's why Madame Pomfrey was far more open to my brainstorming this morning than I thought she'd be."
Septima tried to put the best face on things as she gave Hermione a one-arm hug. "Whenever one door closes, another one opens, right?"
"We might have to blast through that door regardless if it's open or not," the Hogwarts Matron stated, having finished her diagnostic spellwork. "If there's to be a change in treatment, it should be done today."
"So you think it'll work?" Hermione asked.
Poppy shook her head. "I think we may be forced to find out," she replied. "Though why you think we need to cart Mr. Potter off to your parent's house..."
"We'd need the water volume," Hermione replied firmly. "If we tried to do it in a bathtub, or this vat, there wouldn't be enough dissolved oxygen to force through his gills."
"If we were to go the gillyweed route," Poppy noted.
Hermione shrugged her shoulders and nodded. "But even if we didn't...it will be easier to treat Harry's skin if we have better access to it."
Hogwarts' medi-witch pursed her lips, but eventually nodded. "I'll want to see this pool first."
"Of course, Madame Pomfrey," Hermione replied brightly. "We could go straight away."
"Minerva could fashion us a portkey," Septima offered. "Think your parents will be at home?"
"It's Sunday...the surgery is closed," Hermione replied with a nod. "They'll probably still be in bed."
"And they won't mind the interruption?" Septima asked with a smirk.
Hermione cocked her head sideways. "Interrupting what?"
"What they might be doing in bed?"
The young witch waved off the suggestion. "Dad can always do the Sunday crossword later on."
Septima snorted, but didn't press the issue.
oo00OO00oo
Hermione Granger's parents purchased her childhood home on 113 Thames Street in Weybridge in the same year that the Dursleys moved into Number 4 Privet Drive. The residences were roughly the same age, and both located in the western suburbs of London roughly twelve miles apart (as the broom flies). Both homes were also built of brick.
And that's about all that the homes had in common.
Little Whinging was a planned community developed soon after the Second World War in what used to be agricultural lands. The flat landscape lent it self to an ordered gridwork of streets, upon which homogeneous upscale homes were built to house homogeneous upscale people. Hermione's neighborhood, in contrast, was tucked into a wide ox-bow bend of the River Thames, with streets that curved in harmony with the natural landscape. And the people that lived in these homes tended to be just as non-linear, and certainly far more relaxed than the "proper" residents of Privet Drive.
The front of the Granger residence enjoyed a lovely view of a slipway that fed into the river. Across the street was a narrow parking lot attached to a small marina, and a very focused, low-powered muggle repelling charm kept the parking spaces that stood between the house and slipway vacant. While this facilitated aesthetically pleasing curbside views of both the river and the Granger's motorboat that was tied up directly in front of their house, the charm had been placed to provide unobstructed views in the opposite direction. For it was from the bridge of this boat that disillusioned Order members had stood protective watch over the house.
As the carpark marked the outer limit of the home's protective wards, the cabin of the motorboat had become the default target for friendly apparations or portkey use. It was, therefore, the arrival area for four witches who wished to inspect a swimming pool.
"Leave the robes below deck, Madame Pomfrey," instructed Hermione, once they gained their footing. "The notice-me-not charms are tied to the boat, and we'd be spotted once we stepped ashore.
"But that's all I'm wearing at the moment!" the medi-witch protested.
"Allow me, then," offered the Headmistress, who put her transfiguration skills to work and transfigured Poppy's lime-green robes into a lime-green, ankle-length dress.
Hermione looked at the transfigured outfit, as well as McGonagall's tartan, and winced a bit.
"Those will do, I guess."
"Hmmph!" Poppy snorted, taking in the jeans and t-shirts that Hermione and Vector were both wearing. "I haven't worn trousers like those in sixty years, and I'm not about to start now! It's indecent, how tightly those things are pressed up against your thighs and fannies."
"Oh, Poppy," Septima said, with a sigh of amusement. "If I didn't know that you aren't one to wear knickers, I'd suggest that you keep from twisting them."
"Ladies, we are here to do more than comment on fashion and undergarments, aren't we?" asked Minerva. "Come along."
Hermione allowed the Headmistress to lead the way above deck, and onto the river bank. She did push forward, though, once they reached the curb...there wasn't much car traffic on Sunday mornings, but she would never assume that those raised within the wizarding world would automatically look before crossing.
The Granger residence wasn't at all majestic or imposing. Had the Dursleys been shown the Weybridge home for potential purchase, they would taken one look at the relatively narrow lot width of 35 feet and rejected the three-bedroom cottage out of hand. They would have then missed what the Grangers didn't fail to note...the opportunities presented by a home that sat on a lot that was over 235 feet long.
Hermione decided not to immediately pester her parents and announce their arrival. This was to be a quick scout-about that might come up empty, and if it did she wanted to immediately return to Hogwarts, rather than sit for a visit. So she bypassed the front door, and made for the gated pathway that led to the back yard. Since it was Poppy's first visit to Weybridge, Hermione played tour guide, and pointed out the windowed conservatory that was attached to the back of the house. The conservatory overlooked a flagstone patio and landscaped garden that was meant to be played on more than looked at. The garden included a long expanse of lawn, a playground set, and a miniature playhouse that had always been Hermione's favorite place to read.
The garden was half-again as large as the one that Harry had to tend on Privet Drive, but only covered half of the available space. The balance was hidden by a high wooden fence and a second secured gate.
"So the pool area is kept locked up, not so much for privacy as to prevent accidental drownings and unchaperoned dips by the neighborhood kids," Hermione explained, as she waved towards the fence. Using an Alohamora spell that worked quicker than manually opening the combination lock, she pushed open the gate.
"Inside the pool area," she stated, "we'll find a heated in-ground pool, a hot tub, and...Sweet Merlin Riding a Bicycle!"
Septima Vector reacted to Hermione's exclamatory by drawing her wand and leaping in front of her. Once she spied what had prompted Hermione's response, she lowered her wand and grinned.
"No...looks more like your sweet mum riding your dad."
Hermione hastily pulled Septima back and slammed the gate shut. With a deep red blush bursting on her face and neck, she hid her face in her hands.
"Oh my, oh, my, oh my..." she muttered.
Septima resisted suggesting to Hermione that if she wanted to mimic her parent's moans that she'd have to lower her voice an octave or two. Poppy and McGonagall didn't need the extra punchline to generate some snickering.
"Erm...Hermione? Wha...Wait just a second, dear," came a voice from the other side.
"Take all the time you need, Mr. and Mrs. Granger," Septima replied. "We can go inside and wait for you to finish up."
"Oh, that won't be necessary," Roger Granger called out. A few moments later the gate opened, and he walked out wearing a towel wrapped around his waist.
"Hermione...what a surprise!" he said rather sheepishly.
"I'd be worried if it wasn't," Poppy quipped to McGonagall.
"Oh, hold on...I'm supposed to ask you a security question," Roger announced. "Which car got stains on its rear bench upholstery when you couldn't hold your water on the trip to Cornwall?"
Hermione closed her eyes and sighed as the other three witches tittered.
"It was the Beemer, Dad...and I was only five at the time, and I told you that I had to go to the loo fifteen minutes prior."
"That is correct," Roger announced. "Now let's see, what other embarrassing questions can I ask to even things up?"
"Is something wrong, dear?" ask Emily Granger, as she approached wearing a slightly wider towel that barely covered her bits. "Is it about Harry?"
"Yes, actually...it is," Septima replied.
"Oh, no, you don't mean..." Emily pushed past her husband so that she could pull her daughter into a hug. "Oh, no, I'm so sorry, honey, oh, I'm so..."
"No, it's not that," Vector hastily added. "Harry is still alive...we're here because Hermione thought you two might be able to help them."
"Oh, I see," Roger replied, although he really didn't.
McGonagall decided it was time to take charge. "Mr. and Mrs. Granger," she said, "I'd like to introduce you to the Hogwarts Matron, Madame Pomfrey. She's in charge of our Hospital Wing, as well as Mr. Potter's medicinal care."
"Please to meet you," Roger said as he shook Poppy's offered hand. "Please...whatever we can do to help."
"Thank you, Mr. Granger," the medi-witch replied. "If you would allow us to inspect your swimming pool, then?"
"Oh, well...of course," Roger replied, standing back so that the witches could pass through the gate.
Septima, Minerva and Poppy entered the fenced-in pool area, drew their wands, and began casting different types of spells. This allowed Hermione a few minutes time to chide her parents.
"Mum...Dad...I can't believe it...what were you two doing in that deck chair?"
"You mean you really don't know?" Roger asked. "Well, pumpkin, when a mummy and a daddy love each other very much..."
"Oh, stop teasing me," Hermione whined. "I know perfectly well what you two were doing. The question is why you weren't doing it behind locked bedroom doors."
Emily snorted. "Well it could be worse, Roger."
"How's that?"
"Our little girl is willing to accept the fact that her parents still have a sex life...she just wants it to be kept hidden."
"Really, mum...is that too much to ask?"
"Oh, I don't know, pumpkin," Roger replied brightly. "We were behind a privacy fence. on our property, guarded by all sorts of your magical wards. Oh, and we weren't expecting you and your guests. Seems to me that we were keeping things fairly well hidden."
The memory of what she'd seen her parents doing caused a voice inside Hermione's head to proclaim that her mum had indeed been doing a very thorough job of keeping her father's bits hidden from view.
That voice was drowned out by a chorus of voices inside her head that all requested that she be obliviated.
"Well...alright, I'm sorry about arriving unannounced," Hermione replied. "It's just that Harry's life is very much on the line..."
"And keeping your boyfriend alive is more than enough reason to come visit your mum and dad..."
"Oh, stop, Roger," Emily chided, as she swatted him on the shoulder. "Our daughter has been worrying and working herself sick...can't you see?"
"Yes, dear."
"Now, can we focus on what's important then?" Emily asked.
Hermione nodded, and led her parents to their patio table, and chairs that were on the opposite side of where her parents had originally been.
"So, I explained when Septima and visited last time..."
"Oh, so it's first name basis with your Professors, then?" Roger asked.
This earned him another swat on the arm.
"Focus, Roger...and it stands to reason that they'd use first names now that she's graduated."
"Yes, dear."
"So, Hermione," her mum said, "Right after he killed Lord What's-his-name, Harry was hit by an unknown curse that made his skin and lungs burn. You were smart enough and quick enough to throw him into the pond..."
"It was a lake, mum..."
"Right...so that put out the fire, but when floated back to the surface he caught on fire again."
"Well, witches are made of wood, aren't they?"
Swat!
"So they don't weigh as much as a duck?"
"Swat!
"Daddy!"
"Yes, dear...I'll be quiet dear..."
"So," Emily said with a raised voice. "You decided to do some sort of magical cryogenics, and buried him into the mud along the lakeshore. And you've kept him frozen in mud until you find a cure."
"That's the jist of it," Hermione replied. "Except we've had to focus on modifying the stasis charm, instead of searching for a counter to the curse, because the spell is slowly killing him."
"Right, so you've been working closely with Professor Vector on that...you've found an answer?"
"Yes, I mean, no...not to that," said Hermione. "I had a different idea...keep him submerged in the pool, and heal him underwater."
"Why didn't you do that in the first place?"
"Because the salve that's used to counteract the stasis charm's energy drain is water soluble," Hermione replied. "We're going to try and fix that, but in the meantime we could heal his skin because the burn salve isn't water soluble, and take him out of stasis by having him chew a magical plant that allows him to breathe underwater."
"Breathe underwater? Really?"
Hermione nodded. "It's called gillyweed. Harry's used it before...you grow gills, and webbed fingers and toes. Works for about an hour."
"An hour at a time?" Emily asked. "It will be hard for him to sleep, won't it?"
Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "Better constantly interrupted sleep than never waking up again," she declared.
"Well, that's true enough," Roger decided. "So I imagine you'll be staying with him day and night, to ensure he eats his gillyweeds?"
"You're going to need help there, you realize," Emily offered.
Hermione nodded. "I just hope we get to that point of needing the help."
"What's to keep you from trying?"
Hermione waved towards the other witches. "They're working on the logistics...I should probably join them." She stood up, then added, "And you two must have some clothes around here to put on...unless you streaked starkers out here?"
Roger and Emily looked at each other. He snorted, she grinned.
"Oh, no...don't tell me..." Hermione sighed.
"Well, sweetie, how else were we going to test the don't-notice-me things you placed along the fence lines last year?"
"Now Emily...to be fair, we tested them that time on the swing set, remember?"
"On the swing set?" Hermione shrieked. "You two...on my swings?...no, don't answer that question!"
"Fair enough," Emily said, as she pulled her husband up from his deck chair. "We'll be inside when you're done."
"Dressed and inside the house, right?" Hermione asked.
"Of course, dear," Emily chided.
"Well, okay then."
As Hermione parents walked barefoot back towards the house, her dad asked, "Probably just as well she didn't know that we did it in her playhouse too, huh?"
Swat!
"You're just begging for some karmic payback with comments like that, dear."
"What...from my sweet little girl, the cutest bookworm in the world?"
Emily snorted, and thought to remind her husband that he used to call her his cute little bookworm back when they were dating...and remind him just how naughty his cute little bookworm had been at times. But that could just rev up his engines again, and she had no desire to risk Hermione walking in on them a second time that day.
oo00OO00oo
A/N: Thanks to pfeil for the impressively complicated math equation.
