Chapter 2- The Pounding and the Pain
Images flashed maddeningly through her head as she tossed and turned in the strange bed.
A summer's day, hot and humid, at her holiday cottage in the country. Outside, following Crookshanks as he chased butterflies in the cutting garden. So hot. Sweat dripping down her back. Walking inside the cool house, into the bathroom, the tiles cool on her bare feet, her clothes falling in a pile at her side. The tap turning, the water falling around her, on her, erasing her fatigue. A hand reaching through the curtains, a pressure around her throat, a scream, falling, falling, falling.
Hermione cried out and sat up, propelled by some benevolent force right into the embrace of Harry, who had been perched anxiously on her bedside for nearly an hour.
After overcoming his surprise, Harry pulled Hermione closer and stroked her hair as she sobbed and sobbed in his arms.
*
Madame Pomfrey listened to Hermione's whispered explanation and request, her eyes widening. For a moment, she forgot all of the sick students moaning outside her office in the infirmary. For a moment, only Hermione existed in the world.
"You want me to. to. restore." Poppy trailed off, staring in disbelief as Hermione nodded.
"But dear, I don't think. I've never come across a spell for that," Madame Pomfrey admitted reluctantly. How could she say no to this weakened girl, who had already been through so much? But, with a sigh, she remembered all of the students who had become sick in the night while Hermione tossed and turned fretfully. They all needed her as well, and she simply didn't have enough time to search for the spell Hermione wanted. Besides, she was reasonably sure no such spell existed.
"I cannot help you, but I know someone else here at Hogwarts who might be able to do what you ask," Madame Pomfrey offered.
"Oh, please. who is it?" Hermione asked as she brushed her tears away.
"Well. Severus Snape was trained as a healer, among his other. talents. He might be able to make a potion for you." Poppy was dismayed immensely by the look of terror that flitted briefly across Hermione's face.
"Are you alright?" she asked quickly.
"Yes, Madame. Thank you for your time," Hermione said in an eerily emotionless voice before briskly striding out of the office, out of the infirmary, and off into the corridors beyond.
*
"What's wrong with Hermione?" Ron asked Harry as they played Wizard's Chess in the Gryffindor common room. The armchair Hermione often sat in was empty.
"I wish I could say," Harry replied quietly, hoping Ron would pick up on the hint; Harry's hopes were fulfilled.
"What do you mean by that?" Ron demanded sharply. "Did she tell you what was going on?"
"Yes," Harry sighed, "But she made me swear not to tell anyone. I think you should talk to Hermione yourself."
"I think I will," Ron replied thoughtfully. "Checkmate," he added.
*
Snape grimaced at Neville Longbottom as he peered into the boy's cauldron. It was only the first day of class, and already the foolish Gryffindor was screwing up.
"Five points from Gryffindor," the professor snapped as the substance turned black and bubbled.
He stopped again by Malfoy's table, peering irritably at the three Slytherins. Actually, Snape could hardly stand Draco at all, and the idiots Crabbe and Goyle were worse. As a spy among Lord Voldemort's followers, however, it behooved his cause to show deference to the son of powerful Lord Lucius Malfoy.
"Who can tell me the uses of ground Hippogriff fur?" Snape queried loudly, then watched in amusement as the entire dungeon full of students adroitly managed to avoid his stare. Out of habit, his eyes flicked over to the table where Weasley, Potter, and Granger always sat; he was surprised to see Hermione slumped against a column doodling idly on a sheet of parchment.
"What a surprise. Miss Granger doesn't have her hand up. Don't you know the answer?" Snape taunted.
"Maybe," she replied flatly, never looking up. The Potions master felt his face flush suddenly- how dare this little chit speak to him so flippantly?
"I'm not sure I understand, Miss Granger," Snape intoned, his voice icy and menacingly low.
"I haven't been paying attention, so I don't even know what the question was, let alone whether or not I could answer it," Hermione responded in the same bland tone, her head never lifting.
"Perhaps you need practice paying attention to me," the Potions master snapped, the anger apparent in his tone. "Maybe a week of detention will help you to focus." Hermione shrugged and rested her chin in her hands. Snape felt fury rise at her indifference, and something else. he tried to ignore that her abrupt disinterest in his class and in his anger offended him.
"Do you also need practice making eye contact, Miss Granger?" he demanded. He noticed people were shifting uncomfortably in their seats- Draco and his two associates looked exultant, however.
Hermione now sat rigidly straight on her stool, her head down.
"Miss Granger?" he repeated threateningly. She did not move.
His heart pounding, the Potions master strode angrily towards the three Gryffindors, her robes floating behind him. He stopped in front of Hermione, his hand shot out, and he forced her face upward towards his.
Snape felt the look of terror and revulsion in Hermione's bloodshot eyes as a physical blow. He jerked his hand back, and tears began to cascade down her face.
"I will see you tonight at six," he stated, trying to quell the surge of emotions that almost added a quiver to his voice.
"Yes, Professor," Hermione whispered, her head dropping back. With a snarl at the gaping students, Snape returned to the front of the class and tried to finish the lesson normally.
*
The fall seemed to last forever, the water flying down around her. Suddenly her head bounced on the wet tiles, but she didn't remember the pain. All she saw was the tall dark-robed man kneeling over her prone body. "If you do not scream, I shall not kill you." Her hands pinned above her head with magic, the horrible appraising glaze roaming her squirming body. "Your stomach could be a bit flatter, I suppose, but you'll have to do." So modest, all these years. Now, naked and bound on the floor in her parents home, listening to the man's laugh.
A stabbing, brutal thrust ended her childhood and set her body afire. And then, there was nothing but the pounding and the pain.
Images flashed maddeningly through her head as she tossed and turned in the strange bed.
A summer's day, hot and humid, at her holiday cottage in the country. Outside, following Crookshanks as he chased butterflies in the cutting garden. So hot. Sweat dripping down her back. Walking inside the cool house, into the bathroom, the tiles cool on her bare feet, her clothes falling in a pile at her side. The tap turning, the water falling around her, on her, erasing her fatigue. A hand reaching through the curtains, a pressure around her throat, a scream, falling, falling, falling.
Hermione cried out and sat up, propelled by some benevolent force right into the embrace of Harry, who had been perched anxiously on her bedside for nearly an hour.
After overcoming his surprise, Harry pulled Hermione closer and stroked her hair as she sobbed and sobbed in his arms.
*
Madame Pomfrey listened to Hermione's whispered explanation and request, her eyes widening. For a moment, she forgot all of the sick students moaning outside her office in the infirmary. For a moment, only Hermione existed in the world.
"You want me to. to. restore." Poppy trailed off, staring in disbelief as Hermione nodded.
"But dear, I don't think. I've never come across a spell for that," Madame Pomfrey admitted reluctantly. How could she say no to this weakened girl, who had already been through so much? But, with a sigh, she remembered all of the students who had become sick in the night while Hermione tossed and turned fretfully. They all needed her as well, and she simply didn't have enough time to search for the spell Hermione wanted. Besides, she was reasonably sure no such spell existed.
"I cannot help you, but I know someone else here at Hogwarts who might be able to do what you ask," Madame Pomfrey offered.
"Oh, please. who is it?" Hermione asked as she brushed her tears away.
"Well. Severus Snape was trained as a healer, among his other. talents. He might be able to make a potion for you." Poppy was dismayed immensely by the look of terror that flitted briefly across Hermione's face.
"Are you alright?" she asked quickly.
"Yes, Madame. Thank you for your time," Hermione said in an eerily emotionless voice before briskly striding out of the office, out of the infirmary, and off into the corridors beyond.
*
"What's wrong with Hermione?" Ron asked Harry as they played Wizard's Chess in the Gryffindor common room. The armchair Hermione often sat in was empty.
"I wish I could say," Harry replied quietly, hoping Ron would pick up on the hint; Harry's hopes were fulfilled.
"What do you mean by that?" Ron demanded sharply. "Did she tell you what was going on?"
"Yes," Harry sighed, "But she made me swear not to tell anyone. I think you should talk to Hermione yourself."
"I think I will," Ron replied thoughtfully. "Checkmate," he added.
*
Snape grimaced at Neville Longbottom as he peered into the boy's cauldron. It was only the first day of class, and already the foolish Gryffindor was screwing up.
"Five points from Gryffindor," the professor snapped as the substance turned black and bubbled.
He stopped again by Malfoy's table, peering irritably at the three Slytherins. Actually, Snape could hardly stand Draco at all, and the idiots Crabbe and Goyle were worse. As a spy among Lord Voldemort's followers, however, it behooved his cause to show deference to the son of powerful Lord Lucius Malfoy.
"Who can tell me the uses of ground Hippogriff fur?" Snape queried loudly, then watched in amusement as the entire dungeon full of students adroitly managed to avoid his stare. Out of habit, his eyes flicked over to the table where Weasley, Potter, and Granger always sat; he was surprised to see Hermione slumped against a column doodling idly on a sheet of parchment.
"What a surprise. Miss Granger doesn't have her hand up. Don't you know the answer?" Snape taunted.
"Maybe," she replied flatly, never looking up. The Potions master felt his face flush suddenly- how dare this little chit speak to him so flippantly?
"I'm not sure I understand, Miss Granger," Snape intoned, his voice icy and menacingly low.
"I haven't been paying attention, so I don't even know what the question was, let alone whether or not I could answer it," Hermione responded in the same bland tone, her head never lifting.
"Perhaps you need practice paying attention to me," the Potions master snapped, the anger apparent in his tone. "Maybe a week of detention will help you to focus." Hermione shrugged and rested her chin in her hands. Snape felt fury rise at her indifference, and something else. he tried to ignore that her abrupt disinterest in his class and in his anger offended him.
"Do you also need practice making eye contact, Miss Granger?" he demanded. He noticed people were shifting uncomfortably in their seats- Draco and his two associates looked exultant, however.
Hermione now sat rigidly straight on her stool, her head down.
"Miss Granger?" he repeated threateningly. She did not move.
His heart pounding, the Potions master strode angrily towards the three Gryffindors, her robes floating behind him. He stopped in front of Hermione, his hand shot out, and he forced her face upward towards his.
Snape felt the look of terror and revulsion in Hermione's bloodshot eyes as a physical blow. He jerked his hand back, and tears began to cascade down her face.
"I will see you tonight at six," he stated, trying to quell the surge of emotions that almost added a quiver to his voice.
"Yes, Professor," Hermione whispered, her head dropping back. With a snarl at the gaping students, Snape returned to the front of the class and tried to finish the lesson normally.
*
The fall seemed to last forever, the water flying down around her. Suddenly her head bounced on the wet tiles, but she didn't remember the pain. All she saw was the tall dark-robed man kneeling over her prone body. "If you do not scream, I shall not kill you." Her hands pinned above her head with magic, the horrible appraising glaze roaming her squirming body. "Your stomach could be a bit flatter, I suppose, but you'll have to do." So modest, all these years. Now, naked and bound on the floor in her parents home, listening to the man's laugh.
A stabbing, brutal thrust ended her childhood and set her body afire. And then, there was nothing but the pounding and the pain.