Ch 8
The Science of Psychosis
Watcher wards woke Snape with a start. The insistent buzzing against his awareness said blood and he lurched to his feet. Dragging on his frock coat over his under shirt he did not bother buttoning the front. He couldn't have left her more than an hour or two ago. He was in that wide awake, but rather detached mindset that said he'd only just gotten to sleep and had been woken from the light sleep that comes just before dreaming.
Striding down the hall he entered his sitting room calling an orb light into existence. Hermione was restless, but still sleeping. She did not wake when he entered and this caused him pause. He did not know what he expected… maybe a broken window… some other bodily injury she had caused herself testing out her new mobility. Silently, he studied her for some sign of the injury his wards had reacted to. The woman was visibly tensed her entire body rigid.
"Hermione!" he called out reluctant to touch her, he would not make the same mistake twice.
He did not know what would trigger a bad reaction. If anything his voice seemed to unsettle her further and she thrashed once against some invisible bond and then her body relaxed, one hand slipping out from under the cover to trail the carpeted floor. Approaching he steeled himself to touch the girl and wake her, no doubt screaming… he might even get hexed for his efforts to be considerate. That was when he noticed the shadow on the side opposite him was not in fact a shadow.
Blood
It was seeping through the toffee toned blanket at around waist level on her right side. He pulled the blanket down slowly, not touching her, deeply concerned as to what injury would bleed enough to show through the comforter. Had she cut herself? Impossible, she was sleeping.
Her right hand appeared to be sweating… black blood. It was held curled to her side awkwardly, and he knew it had not been so an hour before.
"Severus…"
At her voice, had he been a lesser man, he might have jumped. Its timbre was lower than normal, and husky, but clear. Black eyes darting to her face he saw she still slept.
"Please…"
The low order of command was in the voice that was not her voice, the voice that was dead, dead because he had killed him. He stumbled back from her prone form. Her body jerked once arching horribly off the couch as though a great jolt of energy had struck her squarely in the chest and then she went still, a dropped rag doll.
Absolutely still, her chest even ceased to rise and fall with breath. He stared at her body appalled. Frozen, he could not even muster the courage to move to her aid. Only a single thought, a pitiful mantra, ran through his mind, 'She was not there. She was not there. She was not there.'
Then her hands flew to her throat as she gasped coming violently awake, violently alive. The black blood drying tackily on her right hand left streaks on the pale skin of her neck. Her eyes found his in the clear light cast by his spell and she shuddered a whimper escaping her throat.
Her action goaded him into motion and he approached her freezing once more when she scrambled away from him fetching up in a ball against the arm of the chair. There was fear in her tawny brown eyes and her breath came in quick, shallow gasps. She shivered and her full lips trembled, whether she was speaking or on the verge of tears, it was hard to tell.
"Hermione, what did you see?"
She shook her head and clamped her right hand over her lips her eyes widening and body shaking harder when she noticed the strange inky substance coating her hand from wrist to fingertips.
Slowly, he approached her and pulled her hand away from her mouth. She cringed from his touch struggling weakly but ineffectually in his grasp. With a corner of his sleeve he wiped at the dark smears on her cheeks and lips. He watched from behind an impassive mask as the tears welling in her eyes slid from the corners of her eyes dripping into her hair, darkening the honey toned curls at her temples to amber. Her dark pupils were so wide as to swallow all but a hairline ring of amber bright.
Now that he was within inches of her face he heard her whispering, "Why…why, why, why…why?"
"A dying man's final orders, Hermione, I had no choice, they had to be carried out," meaningless nothings, just sounds, human ones to sooth and ground her in reality.
She shook her head violently and he released her chin, suspecting she did not like him so close to her face. He turned his attention to her hand.
"No…nononono…" it came out like a moan, "He wanted to die…How could he leave us behind?" she was crying harder now, and he wondered that she could withstand such physical pain, yet seemed shaken to her core by this… whatever it was.
"What did you see?" he reiterated, not really expecting an answer.
Her shaking was easing as he cleaned her skin. It looked like her capillaries had literally ruptured and fresh bruising, painted violet over her milky skin.
"Draco, Bellatrix, I stopped Harry from saving me! I was terribly worried you would not come. You did and I was sure you would not do it, you hesitated too long. I kept thinking, 'Just do it. ' God," her free hand clutched her chest, "It hurt, like 100,000 volts of electricity running through my heart."
She was shaking again and grasping at his robes with her good hand. Reluctantly he settled beside her on the couch letting her press up against his side. He did not hold her. He did not want to make it worse. She had just seen him murder a man, a man she'd loved, trusted nearly as a father-figure.
"Damn these dreams. I know it is weak, but they hurt, why must they hurt!" she muttered when her involuntarily clenched fingers wrung a hiss of pain from between her clenched teeth.
"Hermione, that was not a nightmare… you were bleeding, you stopped breathing."
She shook harder pressing herself up under his arm her hand cradled protectively to her chest, "I wasn't just watching…I was Dumbledore. I died."
Her shoulders heaved in silent sobs, "I'm losing my mind, bloody hell. I've finally lost it."
"You're alright, Hermione, you weren't there, hallucinations are rarely accurate to reality," he soothed as best he could, tentatively resting a hand on her head.
"I can't take it!" she almost wailed, "Behind my eyes there's so much death, so much blood. I…I prefer the honest nightmares. I survived those once, I can do it again."
"There's something wrong in your mind, Hermione. I don't think its insanity. Let me in, let me see what's wrong," he cajoled.
She recoiled from him shaking her head, "No, no, no, no…"
'There are things in my mind you cannot see,' her eyes screamed.
"Let me help you," he insisted.
'No' she only mouthed the word this time.
"I've seen and done worse."
She was becoming agitated, and her shields, stressed from his previous prodding were crumbling with each quick breath, but he would not invade her mind… that would cause her pain. Her surface thoughts were broadcasting themselves erratically.
'Bad thoughts.'
'Professor.'
'He can't see.'
'Snape.'
'It will hurt.'
'Severus!'
'It aches.'
"I won't force you. Be calm," he ordered.
Both breathed a sigh of relief when she forced her mind to quiet. He allowed her a moment or two to collect herself. He spoke true… the young woman was off balance. Even just from a glimpse, he could sense the imbalance in her mind, and was haunted by the hazy blackness that dominated her mental landscape. Beyond four years there was little substantial she could grasp…too much was lost, bare outlines she knew, but without powerful triggers she could not recall what Harry's face had looked like when he won a Quidditch game, or even what exactly her parents had gifted her the Christmas of fourth year.
Extending a hand he silently demanded she give him her wounded hand. Slowly, she complied, her eyes wary and watchful. Inspecting it carefully he decided it did in fact need treatment.
"This is not natural," he murmured as he rose lifting the girl into his arms he carried her with him to his potions lab. He no longer trusted her to be alone. His orb of light floated along in their wake.
"What's natural about insanity?" She quipped weakly.
"Everything, it is a defense mechanism," he supplied calmly.
It seemed natural to retake his role as a teacher and answer her questions. It was safe, soothing to both their wounded psyche's now.
"How so?"
"When the mind is overwhelmed emotionally, psychologically, or with physical stimuli it cannot deal with…it seeks a reality it can process, a mental refuge, in which it can maintain its self-image."
"So… hallucination."
"Yes, however there are other manifestations," as he spoke he was spreading bruise healing paste over her hand, "Alternative personalities, a comatose state more numbness to the stimuli than anything else, memory blanks,"
"What triggers it most efficiently?" Hermione inquired.
Snape shrugged, he was in teaching mode, the answers to her questions slipped out without him consciously analyzing what he was saying, "Voldemort is particularly adept at mental torture. He can break a man in a day."
"Are physical stressors less effective?"
"No it is merely a matter of understanding that humans, women in particular, are much more accustomed to dealing with physical stressors, than mental and emotional ones. Therefore the established coping mechanism must be broken," he revealed
"A coping mechanism?" she prompted.
"It is different in different people. Some people curse, become blindingly enraged with the aggressor. Soldiers often cope by 'gritting their teeth and bearing it.' By not expressing their pain they gain control over it. "
"How do you break it?"
"Give the first person, no object toward with to direct their hatred. Without the anger to insulate their mind from the pain they are susceptible. Or force the soldier to express their pain, in a repressive personality the expression actually intensifies the mind's awareness of the pain stimuli. Their minds are more open and vulnerable and more quickly succumb."
"Expression… like screaming," she remarked in a casual tone.
Snape's teeth came together with an audible click as his head snapped up so he could meet her impassive sepia eyes.
He stared hard at her, his lips thinning into a nigh invisible line, "Very Slytherin of you."
She gave him a sharp smile of her own, "I don't have the advantage of Legilimency. I know you're catching surface thoughts. It's only fair."
He blinked reptilian eyes, but his touch on her inflamed hand remained gentle, "Does it surprise you so, that I am just as cold and calculating as I seem; that I have not in recent years developed a sadistic turn for the sound of anguish?"
"It is good to have the assurance."
He nodded, this little manipulation he could accept. Releasing her hand so she might secure it in a comfortable manner against her chest he lifted her from the lab table he had perched her on. She could walk, but he did not trust her strength. Settling her back on her couch he performed a quick cleaning spell removing all traces of the strange black blood.
Then, while she situated herself, he settled into the armchair beside the couch.
A flick of his wand brought a fire in into existence and extinguished his orb light.
Her rustling stopped.
"Umm… are you staying?" she inquired.
"You can no longer be trusted," Snape intoned calmly leaning his head back against his headrest, shifting slightly to get comfortable.
"I didn't do anything."
"No, some yet undetermined element in your mind made you bleed."
"So? I didn't mean to harm myself," Hermione insisted.
"Doesn't matter, until I know what it is that causes you to begin spontaneously hemorrhaging, I'm staying."
Hermione scowled, "If this is a ploy to get me to agree to let you root around in my brain…" she trailed off threateningly.
Snape did not even dignify this sally with opening his eyes, "I assure you, it… mostly is not," he processed the rest of her statement and opened his eyes to send her a sidelong glare, "Furthermore, it takes a great deal of finesse to 'root around' in your brain… at least without leaving you mentally incapacitated. It is an art."
She tried practicality next, "I don't exactly plan on sleeping again… there's no reason for you to be uncomfortable."
"You need rest, and whether you plan on it or not, I predict you will be unconscious within the next twenty minutes."
"Did you drug me?" she bolted upright, wild fear in her eyes.
Snape turned his head slightly to meet her eyes, "No, you fool, you are magically drained. I preformed a small healing magic, as I am sure even you are aware healing magic stimulates the body to sleep and recover. Therefore, either I sit here, while you sleep there, or we can both move to my bedroom," he tacked on sarcastically.
Satisfied he had effectively silenced her he turned his face forward and closed his eyes.
"Oh…" she muttered in a small voice, "Well, why don't we do that? You're never going to fall asleep there," she suggested pragmatically.
Very slowly he turned his head to look her full in the face, "Hermione, I am not about to put you into a bed with a male, even if… no, especially if that male is me."
She gave him a triumphant little grin and he blinked bewildered at her, "So it is only to cater to me," she exclaimed, then she shrugged, and in a voice far too complacent for his liking assured, "You won't trigger anything. It's not as if anything has ever happened to me in a bed."
He flinched and she cringed slightly, "I'm sorry, I said too much again…"
He pinched the bridge of his nose, "Indeed…" he muttered.
When he risked a sideways glance at her he realized she was still looking expectantly at him.
"No," was all he said.
"Let's negotiate."
"You have nothing to leverage," Snape reminded her with just the edge of a smirk visible.
"I can agree to let you perform 'the art' of Legilimency, tomorrow, once you've actually rested. You look rather haggard."
He stared at her, his face still as carved marble, a sure sign he was thinking quite hard about something.
After a long moment he sighed deeply, he did not actually relish napping in an arm chair. A cot could be transfigured, but the purpose was not to sleep deeply so that he could keep an eye on her the night. He studied the stubborn tilt to her lips, she would not appreciate his nursemaid behavior. He was in fact exhausted, it had been a painful week at the Dark Lord's beck and call. Even now he could feel the creeping exhaustion weighting his limbs. The girl was still glaring challengingly at him. It was not as if he in any way constituted a danger to Hermione in that manner. Hell, even she, who had every reason to fear a man, especially one such as himself, pointed out, in her horribly blunt Gryffindor manner, that she did not even worry he might trigger a bad reaction. Still.
"We are both exhausted," she coaxed.
"If it will make you drop the subject."
He rose swiftly, trying hard not to over analyze what he had just conceded. Scooping her up, blanket and all, he walked down the dark hallway to his room. Pushing open the door, he once more summoned an orb of light, illuminating a dark mahogany and hunter green motif. What was he doing? He would blame exhaustion and concern for capitulating to the woman. For now he set her down onto his mattress. The covers were still thrown back from his hasty exit.
Then he walked around to the other edge of the bed sitting on the mattress, not quite able to lay down with the same unthinking ease that she did. It just felt…intrusive, overbearing, wrong…did he really need to stay with her? The image of her thrashing, feeling Avada Kedavra running through her body flashed through his mind. He was staying. Should he sleep on the floor? Would she let him? Would it be unseemly of him to hit her with requiescat? She'd be out cold. He could then sleep on the floor. She was so young, and fragile, though he suspected that the perceived frailty was only a façade created by her emaciation. Still, this just looked bad…it felt like he had somehow manipulated her into this. In fact, he probably had, damn his sarcasm, if he'd just kept his mouth shut…
Hermione sensing this sudden attack of… conscience sat up giving him a gentle smile, and with all the ease of a girl not climbing into bed with her professor-turned-torturer said, "Sleep like I used to with the boys, me, under the covers with my head at the footboard, they on either side of me, on top of the covers, lying right way."
He quirked a brow at this, "Is the Gryffindor dormitory so short on space?"
As he spoke, he took her advice, moving his pillow to the foot of the bed and taking the extra blanket he had carried over with her putting it over the hunter green bedspread.
"Very funny, but no, some of the places we stayed in the last month on the run…were less than comfortable. I finally got fed up with them sleeping on the floor and griping and groaning about it the next morning."
Snape couldn't resist a slight chuckle at this, "And you trapped in between because?"
Hermione gave a little laugh, "Obviously because even if it was only the three of us, heaven forbid they seem too close. Somebody might get the wrong idea."
He lay down and felt the bed shift as Hermione snuggled down into his covers. He felt sleep creep over his mind with alarming speed. It should feel more…disconcerting to share his bed with a former student… with Hermione Granger. On the contrary, it felt almost comfortable. The most disconcerting thing was sleeping upside down in his own bed, his brain kept insisting the door should be on his left side… He could hear her soft, even, painless breaths, feel the warmth of her body against his legs. It was not a terribly large bed, only a full. He lived alone, there was no reason for a king or queen size, but it did not feel cramped with two people. It felt almost… dare he even think the word…cozy.
"Thank you for waking up to check on me, Severus," he heard her murmur, and accepted it feeling no need to make a response.
Oh poor Snape, what things men can be convinced of when they are worried and terribly tired, impairs their judgment it does. Ahh well…
Again, much love to my reviewers, you are the blessed of the earth. (the phrase good people was getting worn out)
Welp, finally got this chapter up, hope you enjoyed a trip into Snape's musings, as I did.
