Disclaimer: LittleFics does not own any part of this story. Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling, and is not LittleFics intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

Her Fugue, His Lie, and Their Story

Chapter 4: Ought to Know

Hermione's convalescence was turning out to be anything but quiet. On one hand that was a good thing, as her emotions were far too overstretched to endure long periods of pensive silence, but on the other hand it was grim, because she found it difficult to cope with the isolation of it all, for the cottage door seemed to be a revolving scene of faces she thought she ought to recognize, and voices she ought to remember talking about things she ought to know.

The first occurrence of this feeling, like déjà vu, was when an enormous man, with long brown hair, appeared on the lawn. Hermione was so frightened, she caught her skirt up in the bedroom door in the process of slamming it shut. Luckily, that large man didn't try and come into that little cottage, but his voice was so deep that it weaseled its way in all the way up through her window,

"No change yet, ya say? Well, if 'here is- I mean, when 'here is, I'd like to see him. Oi, and tell Hermione- if that's 'ight- teller that I hope she's feelin' better, and we miss her. Ron misses her."

Then, to rival the giant of course, there was the small man by the name of Flitwick. He stopped by on a regular schedule and went straight up to where Snape lay, foregoing any false pleasantries to the Pomfreys or their house guest, for that matter. For some reason, Hermione got the feeling that is rudeness was a recent development, and that he had once been a jovial little thing. Now, a dark cloud proceeded his every step, although the girl couldn't quite figure why.

The third time it happened, Madam Pomfrey was teaching Hermione, what looked like to her, hectic scribbles or "wand patterns", at the kitchen table when a plump woman with a bit of dirt smudged on her nose appeared in the doorway looking like a lost dog.

"Pomona," Madam Pomfrey voice took a crack as she rushed to her feet, "I haven't seen you since…"

"…That night. Yes, it's- it's been a while, hasn't it? I just thought I'd better stop by, after all those things we- well, after everything." There were tears welling up in her eyes as she spoke. Pomfrey made no response. "I should have owled…"

"Hm."

Hermione watched the scene rather puzzled. It certainly wasn't like Poppy to behave so awkwardly, that characteristic came with her profession, and yet there she stood, obviously, with her old friend, and for that moment completely unable to comfort her over whatever it was she needed comforting.

"I know it was wrong to go away after it all. You and Minerva, and Horace, and Rolanda- you all needed help and I-"

"-Oh, it doesn't matter now." Pomfrey interrupted with a wave of her hand. She threw a long, mauling look over her shoulder at Hermione, and then suddenly turned back to the woman, "Tea, in the garden, Pomona. You can tell me all about it there."

Much to Hermione's dismay, Poppy took her by the arm and led her outside just out of earshot. As, they were leaving, the plump woman sniffled and said something along the lines of "a well pruned garden."

The most recent occurrence, however, was the most jolting. McGonagall, and a woman by the name of Hooch, who walked with a terribly boyish gait, had decided to have a very loud discussion over lemonade and fire whiskey- but mostly fire whiskey.

"He doesn't seem to have much of a chance, in all honesty, poor fellow." McGonagall fretted "I only wish Poppy would hurry up and make up her mind already so we could all just move on. It's a terrible thing to go on waiting like this, getting everybody's hopes up and all."

Hooch took a long swig of her drink, sucking in the burning liquid through her teeth, "Hopes?"

"Why, yes."

She puckered her lips and began to trace the grain of the wood on the table, "That's not the way I'd put it."

Minerva looked affronted, "Well then, Rolanda, how exactly would you "put it?"'

"Hmm." Hooch took another long drink. "Do you fancy good riddance?"

There was a moment of pure silence and Hermione immediately felt the blood rush to her face even from her reading place on the couch all the way across the room. Perhaps they had forgotten she was sitting there, or perhaps they just did not care, either way Hermione felt torn. One part of her wanted Madam to come rushing down the stairs and stop them before anything unpleasant was said, and another part wanted to listen- listen for any detail concerning the man who was so mysterious to her.

"How can you say that!" McGonagall erupted, rising from her seat, and appearing ten feet tall. "How can you sit here and say something like that when he's dying in the room above you? Don't you know what he's done?"

Hooch rolled her eyes- unperturbed. "Sit down, Minerva, for god's sake." She spat. "Just because you and Poppy feel guilty doesn't change the fact of the matter-"

"The fact-"

"-He put us through hell in the past year, absolute hell, and those for children who died, that was the last year of their bloody lives! Now I can respect what he did, hell, I could have even admired him if he hadn't been such a bastard about it. But he is- was- whatever. So just let him live, or let him die. Don't waste anymore of your hope on him, and do not try and tell me he was a good man, because he wasn't."

Gradually, with the help of these comments, Hermione began to build up a picture of what possibly had occurred. When she figured out it was Snape on who Hooch was blaming the mess– and that all her preconceived notions about him were suddenly looking to be false– her heart skipped a beat. But then she shook her head. He can't be a bad man, she reassured herself, I feel it.

She steadied herself for more when...

"Walk with me."

It was much more of a command than a question. Hermione jolted at the male voice suddenly in her ear, and felt Mr. Pomfrey's strong hand latch itself around her bicep- firm enough to lead and yet loose enough to follow as they began to move forward. It briefly crossed her mind that if the hand had belonged any other man, she would have been frightened. But it did not, and by the time she had thought through the horrid possibility- considering her recent experiences with men- they were outside, strolling along the long tree laden pathway outside of the cottage.

She liked Mr. Pomfrey. He was a good man, a man that she had more in common with than anyone in the world, it would have seemed, but at that moment, she could have hit him square in the nose for pulling her away.

"Phew, that was awkward," he laughed breathily, releasing his hold on Hermione's arm. Perhaps she looked as unamused as she felt, because the smile quickly dropped from his face and he tucked his hands in his pockets, eyes suddenly glued to the ground. "Those two are a stubborn as they come- naturally, it's hard for them to get along all of the time. And Rolanda can be very difficult when she's had a bit to drink, as can everybody, I suppose, but you mustn't think-"

"Mustn't think what?" Hermione interrupted dully. "I can't think anything of something I know nothing about, can I?"

"Well, you know that's-" he came to a stop, looking severely perplexed. "Sorry, I didn't quite catch that."

Hermione sighed. "Oh, never mind."

They lapsed into an uneasy silence. Mr. Pomfrey's shoulders sagged and Hermione felt a wave of guilt wash over her. She knew, of course, that he only thought he was helping. Maybe that was what he wished would happen to him in uncomfortable situations, but she had grown fatigued of the constant shielding, and was willing to feel a bit of awkwardness in order to work some things out.

"I hate being treated this way." she admitted at length, "Like I haven't got a clue what's going on. Yes, I may have lost my mind but I haven't lost my ability to think."

"I know exactly what you mean."

"Do you?" questioned Hermione, "Because I feel like if you really did, you would have let me listen."

"Listening can be complicated."

"Oh, right, psh, look at me, I forgot. Everything's so damn complicated, isn't it?" She began hurtling back down the pathway to the cottage, "Too complicated for silly little Hermione! Far, far over her empty head."

"No," Mr. Pomfrey trotted after her, "No, that's not it at all. We all know you're smart, Hermione, everybody does, but you're only going to get back to your true self if you work on remembering who you were."

"And how exactly is who I used to be related to Snape?"

He sighed again and ran his fingers through his graying hair. "I suppose it's not really, not directly anyway- well, not that I know of…"

"What?"

Mr. Pomfrey groaned. He was looking decidedly apprehensive, "Poppy will kill me…" he muttered underneath his breath, "I didn't know you before all of this, but let's just say, I very much doubt that you and the Professor were friends."

Of course they weren't friends- the man was nearly twice her age- did Mr. Pomfrey honestly think he was giving her something to go on?

"He wasn't very-likable, you see, but he did this thing- this really great thing that you and your friends were very involved in too- and now nobody knows quite how to feel about him, especially because he may not survive."

"Oh."

The man sighed, tucking his hands in his pockets again as they walked, "He saved a lot of lives, he did, and maybe he just had us all fooled too…" he shook his head, "Well, that's all I can say about that, but I'm sure you'll remember soon, Hermione, these things take time. Believe me."

Hermione nodded, satisfied with that answer for the time being. It wasn't anywhere close to all she needed, but it would have to do.

They walked the rest of the way back in silence, but when they reached the cottage something felt off. The front door was flung open, and the flowers right near the steps were trampled and burned, as if somebody had stumbled across them and apperated on the spot.

"Poppy." Mr. Pomfrey whispered, and tore off into the house.

The absolute terror in his voice caused ice to spring up through Hermione's veins. Were those people he was so worried about back? Had they come for Snape? Would she find Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall lying dead on the floor?

Chest heaving violently, Hermione stepped up through the threshold. One of the chairs where Hooch and McGonagall had been sitting was toppled over, and a glass was shattered on the floor, but other than that, nothing else was out of place.

Hermione could hear footsteps above as she crept up the stairs. There was some commotion down the hallway which she soon realized it was coming from Snape's room. Her heart felt like it was going to thump out of her chest and still she leapt to push the door open.

All the color drained from her face.

Snape was standing uneasily by the bed while Madam Pomfrey and McGonagall both tried to push him back down. His dark eyes immediately found hers in the doorway and widened with shock or with fear.

"Granger."


A/N: Sorry it's been so long. Thanks for reading and I would love to know what you think!