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Her Fugue, His Lie, and Their Story

Chapter 6: The Damned

Clouds had moved in overnight, and Hermione awoke the next morning to an ominously rolling sky outside her four paned window. Lazily, she drifted over to it, only to be greeted by a rather perplexing scene.

Madam Pomfrey, clad in her blue gardening apron and hat, was carrying a basket and fighting her way up the pathway against blustering wind. She was followed closely by an unfamiliar witch, dressed in a horrible lime green robe, painfully tight curls bouncing on her head as she trotted along. A pad and large quill floated with her, near the ear. She looked quite ridiculous, Hermione thought, especially when the heel of her furry pump got caught in the cobblestone and she nearly tripped.

"Oh Poppy, Poppy, dear, I had no idea you were such a recluse!" The woman positively sung, her voice carrying up through window with the wind, "Merciful Healer Nurses Forlorn Victims at her Nunnery of a Home- a bit wordy, I should say, but it certainly has a romantic ring to it. Keep that. Oh, Poppy, just indulge us with a teensey statement for the Prophet! Me, myself, and not to mention my legions of readers are dying to know!" She came to an abrupt stop with a sound like a hiccup, but then quickly resumed pace, shivering with delight, "Dying? Should I say dying? Was that an ill choice of word given the circumstances? Darling, don't keep us in such suspense!"

Pomfrey soldiered on, her lips far thinner than Hermione had ever seen, showing no inclination of panic, or acknowledgment at all, for that matter.

"Alright, touchy." pouted the woman for a blessed moment, but apparently she was the resilient sort, "How about the Granger girl, then? Concerned? Frightened? Is it true she's lost her mind? Psychiatric Health of War Hero Falls to Delusion - scratch that- Madness."

At this Poppy halted, spinning so harshly on her heel that the other witch seemed to melt down into her robes.

"I think it'd be in your best interest if you went home, Rita, before I go to the Minister with this. He and I are very well acquainted, as I'm sure you know, and I have no doubt he'll find a way to make you regret you ever set foot on this property."

Rita chuckled nervously. "Surely-" she patted her chest in a fluttering fashion as if she were one of those American debutants that had suffered a fainting spell, "surely that's a mite too far."

"I wouldn't count on it."

"Well," sighed Rita, "I can see where I'm not welcomed-"

"How perceptive of you."

"-however, I've been holding on to one particularly scrumptious piece of information I think you'd like to have on hand, Poppy. Perhaps you'll reconsider…"

"I'll venture not."

The blonde's shoulders slumped with an extra dramatic flare, "Oh pity," she droned, "I thought you'd be quite troubled to hear they're calling for old Snape's arrest."

"What?"

Rita was smiling sardonically now, as if she had predicted this- as if every little speck of shock on Pomfrey's face was falling straight into her great churning bucket of a plan. "Contingent on the fact that he's still alive, of course."

"Nonsense!" Spluttered Poppy, although the way she began tearing back up the pathway betrayed her, "Absolutely absurd!"

"May I have a comment now?"

"You may not!"

The door slammed from below, and Hermione vaguely registered the sound of the fireplace flaring up and then simmering back down. Her head was spinning far too furiously for much thought after that. Words like madness, war hero, and arrest, bounced back and forth off the sides of her skull., bringing on a frightful ringing in her head , and before she knew anything else, for some unfathomable reason, she was standing in Snape's room.

She shuddered.

The whites of his eyes glowed back at her from his position on a wingback chair, unalarmed and appraising. Heavy curtains were drawn over the window behind, allowing absolutely no light in, and still his chair was turned away from it, placed in the darkest corner, as if it were a bottom dweller scurrying away to the deep sea. His pale body was slender, perhaps looking more like a skeleton than a man, underneath his black quilted robe, and though Hermione was aware he hadn't seen the sun in months, his appearance just then was truly shocking.

Evidently, the astoundment was written all over her face, for Snape sucked his teeth and sneered.

"What are you gawking at?" he hissed, "Come to see Azkaban's newest resident?"

"Azkaban?"

A short, gruff noise spewed from his lips, almost like laughter but with a crazed edge, "Right," he said, "I'd nearly forgotten- you can't remember a damned thing."

Inherent heat flared up to Hermione's cheeks, "That's not true," she insisted, "it's not, and I think you know it."

"I beg your-"

"Why were you up last night? Why were you- why were you lurking?"

Something flashed in Snape's eyes, something like fear, but it was quickly repressed and buried with a deep, satirical chuckle,

"How comical. Perhaps Rita Skeeter has it right after all, perhaps you are mad," he smirked, "I feel no obligation to explain myself to you, Granger, but if you must know, I was simply curious as to what sort of animal was outside dying across the hall."

The girl crossed her arms over her chest with a frown, "You know I've heard some pretty foul things about you, but I was willing to hold out until we met before I passed any judgment. I see now that was foolhardy."

"Judgment." Snape scoffed, "It seems quite plain to me that just isn't correct- sauntering in here with your accusations."

Hermione huffed, "I haven't accused you of anything!"

"Haven't you just?" he implored, and then waved his reaper-like hand in an unconcerned way, "You're all the same… it never changes. The simple fact is, there are people in this world who are damned no matter the nature of the things they do. I am one of them."

"That's a little melodramatic, surely." Hermione continued scowling, although, even knowing the little she did about him, beginning to think maybe what he said was true. "Why then?"

His prominent brows furrowed in confusion.

"Why are you damned? There has to be some reason. I don't think the universe works in such a wicked way as to damn a complete innocent."

Snape stilled, black eyes becoming transfixed on the floor. He was so motionless that Hermione began to wonder if he had gotten stuck, but soon realized that he simply could not look her in the eye. Then very suddenly, in a harsh flash of black and white, he was on his feet. "You don't anything!" he barked, frail body swaying with his wrath, "You know nothing about this life, even if you were always the smartest one-"

His words came to a stop, dissolving into harsh cough that came from the bottom of his lungs. He stumbled back into his chair, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket that immediately became speckled with blood.

The sight of him doused any anger Hermione felt. She flew forward, summoning a goblet from the bedside table, filling it with water, and pushing it into Snape's hands, without another thought. It took a while before he could plausibly swallow it, but when his hacking died down, he gulped greedily.

"Pretty good." Hermione said more to fill the silence, but also feeling rather pleased with herself. "Madam Pomfrey taught me how to do that."

"Mhm."

"She, at least, thinks you're a good man, does that make you feel less pitiful? And, I- well, I don't think you're a bad one either."

His grip grew tighter on the empty glass, eyes raising to meet hers, and somehow she knew that she had never seen so much pain in one gaze.

"Then you're both fools."


A/N: First Snape/Hermione conversation. It scares me… I've never actually written one so please tell me what you think. Thanks for reading!