III - Non Grata

Hermione stared blankly at the floor in front of her, her legs swinging as she sat perched on the edge of her hospital cot. Madame Pomfrey had been helping her assess just which memories she'd lost and which she'd retained when a blonde teen came bashing into the hospital wing, loud, haughty, and bleeding from a cut above his eye.

He'd sneered at her and made a snide comment under his breath that she barely heard before the Matron patted her knee and left. The little curtain around her cot was slung shut and now she was listening to them speak as she stared at the floor.

She heard a few names 'Potter' and 'Weasley' as well as 'bloody Longbottom' before the medi-witch managed to calm him and ushered him from the wing.

"Get well soon, Granger." He'd huffed sarcastically before leaving and Madame Pomfrey rejoined her.

"Who was that boy?" She questioned the Matron who was still shaking her head and muttering about the teen long after he was gone.

"His name is Draco Malfoy, difficult lad but he doesn't know better. He's only following by example."

"Oh, when can I leave here?"

"I was hoping to monitor you for a few days more, I see you're anxious to go but the tremors are concerning. They don't seem to be abating." She answered plainly and Hermione clenched her fingers into her palms. She could feel the jagged edges of her nails digging in to her delicate palm.

"I would really rather begin my studies once more. I understand your hesitation but Professor Snape is familiar with this specific Curse, is he not?" She painted an earnest look on her face, an attempt to appeal to the medi-witch's good nature. Hermione honestly was more than aware it would be unpleasant living with the taciturn Professor that she'd only seen a handful of times since he'd been 'burdened' with her care.

Still she would prefer his stern and standoffish nature to the Matron's overbearing caretaking. She wasn't sure how she felt about being coddled before but she knew now she didn't like it. Forgetting her interactions with other people had negatively impacted the way in which she understood herself and the motivations for the things she did. She could feel a sort of deep-seated need to gain the approval of those around her but it was almost entirely crushed under her drive to achieve for herself.

Without having the expectations of parents looming over her head, or a firm attachment to anyone at all she felt incredibly free to simply exist as herself. It was this sort of introspective analysis that lead her to believe she would be better off in the care of a semi-emotionless dungeon dwelling Potions Master than the motherly Matron of Hogwarts Medical Wing.

Hermione felt the eyes of said Matron, considering her words, and knew she was reaching for the right thing. They didn't want students of the school to see her and her presence in the Hospital Wing put her anonymity at risk. She was a danger to Dumbledore's deception sitting on her little cot. In the dungeons, no one would know where she was and they would be able to carry on with the tale they had begun to spin about a program for those who planned to gain a Charms Mastery post Hogwarts. Because Hermione was the only student interested, and accomplished enough to earn such a prestigious offer. They were beyond certain her friends, whose names she could not recall, would take the excuse and believe it without a doubt.

"I think I understand your reasoning Ms. Granger, without a need to explain. I'll be done to your room at least once a day until I am pleased with your progress. Acceptable?" Hermione nodded and sat back with the palms of her hands pressed into the cot, supporting her.

"I rather think word of my presence here getting out would be counterproductive. Is that Draco boy friends with my," her brow furrowed, "former friends?" Her head tilted, it didn't feel quite right but at the same time she wasn't able to call them her friends. As far as she was concerned for the moment she had no friends to speak of. She couldn't rightly claim someone as something so intimate as a friend if she couldn't remember their names or faces.

"No, I doubt you have anything to worry about there, dear. He's quite the opposite of friendly with young Messrs. Potter and Weasley." Hermione attempted to commit those last names to memory and fought with herself for a long moment for even a glimpse of a memory of the two.

She thought he strain must have aggravated her condition because her entire body began to spasm and she fell back onto the cot. Her eyes were locked wide open and her mouth opened as if she wanted to scream at the pain, instead she could let out a low squealing breath. She sounded like a dying mouse, it was a desperate sound. Madame Pomfrey tried to comfort her with spells but they seemed to be ineffective as she heaved and her limbs intermittently locked and thrashed.

When it passed she was left prone on the cot, her legs bent at the knees and hanging from the edge. Her breaths were heaving and desperate and her arms still tremble and shook with soft tremors for another minute or so before the entire ordeal passed. She closed her eyes and pinched her lips together.

"I would like to have a room of my own now." Madame Pomfrey could only nod. Hermione could have hugged her for understanding. When forced into a state of agonizing pain and weakness it was unbearable to have someone observe unless they were able to assist. Assistance seemed to be outside of Hermione's grasp and so, she would rather suffer silently, and alone, in her own room.

"I would like to once more reiterate that you are not welcome here. Your presence has been thrust upon me and I have little to no desire to interact with an insufferable know-it-all on a daily basis." Snape stood with his arms crossed behind his back, which was rod straight. He was staring down at her with a look that led Hermione to believe he thought he was better than her and based on his little speech that was exactly what the git thought.

She cocked a well sculpted brown eyebrow and wet her lips in thought.

"I'm not certain what you expect, Sir, but I can assure you I will stay out of your way as much as possible." She wanted to placate him and she hoped this was the method. Based on the dark look in his eyes it would gain the exact opposite of the reaction she desired.

"There is no amount of 'staying out of my way' you could possibly do to make me abhor your presence any less. You are a pest that I have been saddled with against my will as well as a leech on my nerves. You have been dancing on my ability to maintain self-control beginning the day you walked into this blasted school and you will continue to be a drain on the existence of every truly intelligent witch and wizard until the day you have ceased to be." Hermione sucked a sharp breath.

Well, he certainly had no qualms speaking his mind. Did he?

"I'm not certain what kind of response you desire for your words, Professor. Cruel words and hateful sneers are, quite frankly, the least of my worries and perhaps you should save your breath for more useful tirades than those against me." She glanced to the door he'd shown her upon her arrival that hid her own chambers. "Frankly, I highly doubt I will require your tutelage and will aspire to do just fine on my own. The less I see of you, and that rather surly attitude of yours I am subjected to the happier I will be."

Hermione turned and pulled down the handle to allow her entrance to her room daintily. His sneer hardly having an impact on her as she turned to look at him once more over her shoulder.

"I bid you good evening Sir. I highly doubt they can be achieved by one so nasty as yourself but I wish you sweet dreams." She walked into her room and shut the door with a soft, and very final click, behind her.

"Bloody know-it-all. Bloody Albus." She heard him hiss before the firm, heavy steps of his boots on the stone floors alerted her that she was entirely alone.

Alone. Hermione bit back a sob at the thought.

She well and truly was alone, alone in her head, and alone in her life. She dug her teeth into her lip hard enough to bring blood.
Well, if she was going to be alone she would just have to make the best of it.

Shoulders squared she marched to the little desk provided her and began her perusal of her school books. No sense in sacrificing her studies just because she hadn't a friend in the world.