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Her Fugue, His Lie, and Their Story

Chapter 3: Night Frights

"Repellendum malum vires. Repellendum malum vires!"

Hermione jolted out of her slumber like a fish out of water, legs swinging over the edge of the bed before she even had time to calculate why. One step and her knees buckled underneath the weight, still so weak, and unable to manage what she thought should have been a basic human function. What a silly thing for her to do. Her shattered kneecaps had just barely pieced themselves back together- how could she have expected them to hold her up off the hard floor?

"What on earth are you doing?" A sharp cry echoed off the walls below. Hermione peeled herself off the ground- innate sense to listen overriding any pain, "Are you out of your mind? You'll bleed yourself out. Stop it! Stop!"

Hermione shuddered, crawling closer to the door, and trying to gain her bearings. It was dark, and the floor below her was cool, old wood. Right, she was in Pomfrey Cottage, there was man in the next room, there had been a war, people were dead, her name was Hermione Granger.

Don't do that, she told herself, don't let what's left of your bloody mind wander. Think. Listen.

The people downstairs were shuffling about, perhaps entangled in each other's arms- brawling, even. They made small sounds of discontent, and grunts of frustration for just a few moments, and then came relent.

"Fine! Have it your way- have this whole sodding household murdered in their sleep. What do I care? What's more blood spilt on my hands?"

"John…"

The man let out a horrible moan that radiated up through the floorboards. The sound was quickly followed by vicious thud. He was thrashing around; Hermione could see his seizing shadow through the crack of her door, and then the equally frantic shadow of a woman, who she surmised was Poppy. The girl's pounding heart slowed noticeably in her chest, calmed by the thought that nothing too terrible could happen with Madam Pomfrey around. She pressed her ear against the door, listening more closely when the shrieking died down.

Madam Pomfrey was panting. "It's all right," she said, perhaps without caring of the accuracy of her words, "You're all right."

"Pol," Mr. Pomfrey whispered so lowly that Hermione had to crane her neck to hear, "I thought somebody was coming. I thought it was… It could have been…"

'Shh. You've just had another episode, that's all. Nobody's after you this time."

There was groan as he pushed himself onto his unsteady feet. "But they could be after him, couldn't they?"

"After Severus? No, I doubt it." Madam Pomfrey said calmly, "And even if someone is, we have strong enough wards up here- strong enough that we don't need your blood on our door…"

"I was making a blood ward, wasn't I?"

"Trying to, at least." Hermione heard the familiar sound of bandages being unwrapped as Madam Pomfrey continued, "I shuddered to think what you've seen sometimes, John, but these attacks aren't going to get any better if you can't accept that it's over. That curse plays tricks on your mind, and you've just got to remember that we've won. That no one else has to die." She sighed, "The only thing left to remind of us of the war is that scar on your face…"

"And our wards."

Madam Pomfrey chuckled, "And our wards. Now," her night robes rustled as she crossed the room, "you've done enough damage tonight- off to bed. I fear poor Miss. Granger has gotten quite the fright."

Hermione felt her stomach drop with the weight of shock, and hot blood sprung to her face. Of course the woman had known she was awake, and of course she knew Hermione was listening. She knew everything. But why did it matter, after all? Why did it matter that Hermione held one secret of their lives, when they held every last one of hers?

Her revelation was comforting, really- that Mr. Pomfrey's mind ran away from him, just as her's did. She wasn't alone in that respect, and she certainly wasn't as mad.

The door to the girl's bedroom door swung open, and a slow, sly smile crept across Madam Pomfrey's face upon finding Hermione rooted by the frame.

"I thought I might find you here."

"You thought right." Hermione frowned. "I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to eavesdrop."

Madam Pomfrey scoffed, "Nonsense. He was being so loud that I'm surprised Professor Snape didn't hop up and join you."

Hermione bit her lip to keep from smiling because it didn't seem entirely proper to joke about the living dead, or the dead living- whatever he fancied. She had to be careful, or risk feeling insensitive.

Madam Pomfrey didn't seem to mind, however. She helped Hermione back into bed with a satisfied gleam in her eyes, as if to say, "Oh, Miss. Granger, that was funny." But, perhaps, Pomfrey believed in the world a bit more than the girl. For what Hermione knew of it, so far, was only rain and bleakness. It was people getting angry with her, tears welling up in their eyes, and mothers fretting over coffins.

"Is he… will he ever wake up, Madam Pomfrey?"

The light did not complete disappear from Pomfrey's face, but considerably dulled. She sighed, pulling the blankets up to Hermione's chin. "Only time can tell that, my dear, but I'm giving up on him just yet- we're far too resilient for that."

"But how will you know?" Hermione pressed on, "How will you know when time has told? Time goes on endlessly."

Madam Pomfrey looked taken aback, she sat down on the edge of the bed, her silky blue night robes rippling, "I suppose," she began at length, "it's been enough time when you stop feeling him there. When he ceases to live even in your mind."

"Oh."

Hermione gave the nurse a blank look. She did not know what to say. She couldn't say that she was quite often, painfully, aware of his presence, that she thought of him always when she woke, that his soul was never dull enough to fade away from her mind. It may startle the old woman- it always startled Hermione, after all. She felt a time would never come when she didn't feel him there in that room, and she didn't know why.

"How would you measure it?"

The girl shut her eyes and quickly shook her head, "I wouldn't be able to do it at all. It's too hard."

"Yes," Pomfrey breathed, looking down at her slippers, "yes, it is hard, indeed, and yet, those decisions must still be made." She seemed to be lost in contemplating her own words for a moment, then suddenly she broke out into a soft smile again, "No need to fret over it just now, is there?"

Hermione nodded silently, although she wasn't even sure she had convinced herself. "But what's a blood ward?"

Pomfrey sighed deeply, as if she were very vexed that the term hadn't escaped Hermione's notice. "It has to do with dark magic- blood sacrifice. Oh, it's too complicated to worry you with."

"Harry Potter told me I was smart..."

Madam Pomfrey fixed her with a hard look, "You are smart, Hermione."

"Then tell me." she implored, "Why was Mr. Pomfrey trying to put one on the house?"

"Because when he is overcome, he loses his mind!"

Hermione couldn't stand to be spoken to in that infuriating way. She may have lost her memory, but she hadn't lost her wit. "That's not what I meant." she said assertively.

The elder woman let out a sputter of rueful laughter, "Very well. If you must know, it is because Professor Snape has quite a flock of enemies. Enemies that are- that are unforgiving in every way imaginable. Enemies like those who gave my husband his illness, and who put you where you are." Hermione gulped. "I can't say anything further because I want you to try and remember, my girl, but I can tell you this- you're safe here. I don't think anyone is left alive, or with the gall to come looking for him."

"And if they do?"

"If they do? Well, I've done a fair share of fighting in my day, and so have you. Now, get some rest, dear, goddess knows you need it."

And with that Madam Pomfrey was gone, leaving Hermione alone in the dark, with only her racing thoughts, and Professor Snape's heartbeat pounding through the walls in her ears.


A/N: Thanks for reading, sorry it's been so long but… college. Please review. I hope to update again within the month!