See Disclaimer and warnings in part one
Fugue State 06
*******
By the time Hermione made her leave of Colin and Ginny, the two had set a date to meet in at The Three Broomsticks during Ginny's next Hogsmeade weekend. Exiting the pub, she made her way onto the streets of Muggle London. After seven years at Hogwarts and now her studies with Master Juglenot, she felt like a visitor here.
After the events of the day, she wasn't sure that she was at home in the Wizarding world either. No one at the trial had acted as though anything was amiss. Perhaps it was she. She had been mocked for her crusade for the rights of the kitchen elves at Hogwarts. There were times when the values and sensibilities that her parents had instilled upon her seemed in direct contradiction to the realities of the Wizarding world. She was never sure if this was solely her problem. She had never had the chance to ask Seamus about his upbringing, and now it was too late. But he had been raised with a foot in both worlds, so his perspective although interesting, would still be with a focus towards the Wizarding way of life. She had never been close with the other muggle-born students, and even Harry, as result of his upbringing, had been so grateful to escape his Aunt and Uncle, he'd never questioned anything. Both Harry and Colin had embraced the Wizarding world and had never looked back. They were fully accepting of the things that went on. So what was her place? Was it even hers to question the trial.
Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall had both given testimony, as well as Harry. As close as she was to Harry, there were things that he had never shared with either Ron or her. Perhaps it wasn't her place to question the actions of others. She had ignored the trials of the other Death Eaters, and she had never been in direct contact with Professor Snape during the war, nor had she known what he was doing. His actions had only been privy to a few select people. Who was she to question their actions? One of the things she had taken away from Hogwarts was that she didn't know everything. In all honesty, since leaving school, she'd never felt so insecure and out of place.
Hermione walked down the darkening streets of London on the way to her residence at the College, as the street lamps came on and the shadows lengthened, her posture became straighter and she walked with a greater sense of purpose. She was who she had always been, Hermione Granger. She'd never let the opinions of others stop her before, why should she now? The past years might have tempered her actions, but never her mind, what had happened to Snape rankled her. His silence and demeanor frightened her, what had happened to him to change him so? Why was the man who had terrorized students for years expunged from every record and thrown into the bowels of Azkaban?
She reached her door and made her way up the floors to her flat, greeting Crookshanks and hanging up her cloak. Like herself, the flat as an amalgamation of the Wizard and Muggle world. Amidst the pictures of her family and friends, were the Wizarding pictures moving in and out of frame, waving and smiling at her as they passed. In her bookshelves were her favorite books from childhood to her texts from Hogwarts. She made herself a cup of tea and settled down on the couch with her cat at her side. Picking up the Charms work she had ignored over the holidays she was deep into the chapter on lasting Charms for Defensive Purposes when a thought struck her. Putting her text down, she drew out her wand, gave it a wave, and with a quick "Accio Hogwarts: A History," the tome flew into her hand.
Perhaps the question wasn't whether Snape was guilty, he obviously had the Dark Mark, but rather why nothing existed or was written about him in the History, unlike every other Hogwarts teacher that had served before him or since. The question was, Hermione thought long into the night as she read, not what Snape had done to deserve Azkaban, but who Snape was. Maybe it was there she'd find some answers.
And some peace.
Two weeks later Hermione was willing to admit defeat. First Master Juglenot had been very disappointed at her lack of progress over the holiday break. Hermione felt the break had been deserved. She had spent the last seven years of her life studying on every free moment. Every other second had been filled with fighting Voldemort, ferreting out plots at the school and doing battle with the forces of evil. She had needed the break. After one particularly bad session, she had broken down. To her surprise Juglenot had laughed. Since then the tutoring sessions had been of a lighter nature and Hermione was thankful. For once she could go to sleep at a reasonable hour. The History hadn't revealed anything of note about Snape. Somehow Hermione had hoped that Ginny had been in error, but she hadn't. Snape was nowhere to be found. She had written to both Ginny and Harry for some information. Ginny to ask if she could see Ginny's paper after it was done. Hermione hoped that even if Ginny hadn't found anything new, perhaps Binns, in his comments had revealed something.
Harry was proving more difficult to get in touch with. Her first letter had been returned by an owl carrying a letter. A form letter that thanked her for writing to Harry Potter, offering her a membership in the 'Harry Potter Fan Club', one year subscription for only one Galleon, and a Harry Potter playing card that swooped up and down, forever catching the snitch. The second letter had contained a missive thanking her for her continued interest in Harry Potter and a note signed personally by Harry himself. In increasing frustration, she'd sent notes and floo'ed both Molly Weasley and Sirius for help, only to be told that the Quidditch team was in retreat preparing for the next World Cup round. They'd promised to help her in contacting Harry, but she'd only have to wait.
So she had. She was going out tonight with the other students in the Masters program. Tomorrow she planned to go to the main Library in Hogsmeade, meet up with Ginny and see if there were any reasons about the strange removal of Severus Snape and his life. Perhaps Ginny might also have some answers, sometimes things were obvious to Wizard born people than to her. There were still times that the obvious to them took her by surprise.
*****
The Dementors were making their nightly rounds among the denizens of Azkaban. From the hospital wing to the lower cells they traveled along the corridors of the prison for their daily feeding. Moving down deeper into the prison, they left in their wake trembling, screaming and sobbing prisoners. It was a rare occasion that they failed to make a person weep. The only one in recent memory, that had not reacted to the Dementors was this one, in the lowest point of the island. So far down, that the cells were beneath the surface of the water of the island. The effect of these cells was an odd sense of disorientation unique to this potion of Azkaban. The air was artificial, the sounds muffled and the time seemed stagnant. It was here the prisoners knew the full scope of their incarceration. They were entombed within bubbles of air, existing only on the whims of a society that had condemned them. They were the forgotten ones. They remained in their cells, allowed nothing. Their hair was kept shorn, lest they use it to hang themselves. For this reason as well, they were not allowed any coverings. Four hundred and twenty-three years ago a prisoner in these cells had used his robes to hang himself. Since then, these prisoners were allowed nothing. Their cells were as bare as their bodies. They were removed once a week by the Dementors to allow for the cells to be cleaned of the waste the prisoners produced, as well as allowing for the upkeep of their hair and bodies. Due to the nature of the cells, these prisoners needed to be hosed down weekly, for if the chore was not done, the stench overpowered even the Dementors. They were removed in sequence, never seeing anyone else except their keepers. At all times the Dementors feasted upon these ones, as they were more readily available to them than all the others. The prisoner in the last cell, puzzled the Dementors. They were unable to feed upon him. He sat unmoving, as he had lain upon the bed in hospital, never reacting. The Dementors tried again and again to draw this one out, yet they had never succeeded.
It was with resignation that the Dementor approached this last remaining cell. This one had never released anything. It approached the door and swept into the cell, swooping down upon the lank, dirty object on the floor. As it neared, a low keening noise was heard. As the Dementor neared, the sound became a wail, which rose to a scream, a howl from a voice not heard in a year. The throat and vocal cords tearing themselves with the force and the sudden use. The Dementor released cries of ecstasy which drew others. Soon the cell was crowded with Dementors as the man howled and writhed beneath them. He was soon coated in bile, blood, urine and feces as his body voided itself and the Dementors flew in and out of his cell, calling to one another as the last man was drained. After an interminable number of minutes had passed the man passed out in a pool of his own fluids. The Dementors left the cell, fully fed at last.
*****
TBC...
Fugue State 06
*******
By the time Hermione made her leave of Colin and Ginny, the two had set a date to meet in at The Three Broomsticks during Ginny's next Hogsmeade weekend. Exiting the pub, she made her way onto the streets of Muggle London. After seven years at Hogwarts and now her studies with Master Juglenot, she felt like a visitor here.
After the events of the day, she wasn't sure that she was at home in the Wizarding world either. No one at the trial had acted as though anything was amiss. Perhaps it was she. She had been mocked for her crusade for the rights of the kitchen elves at Hogwarts. There were times when the values and sensibilities that her parents had instilled upon her seemed in direct contradiction to the realities of the Wizarding world. She was never sure if this was solely her problem. She had never had the chance to ask Seamus about his upbringing, and now it was too late. But he had been raised with a foot in both worlds, so his perspective although interesting, would still be with a focus towards the Wizarding way of life. She had never been close with the other muggle-born students, and even Harry, as result of his upbringing, had been so grateful to escape his Aunt and Uncle, he'd never questioned anything. Both Harry and Colin had embraced the Wizarding world and had never looked back. They were fully accepting of the things that went on. So what was her place? Was it even hers to question the trial.
Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall had both given testimony, as well as Harry. As close as she was to Harry, there were things that he had never shared with either Ron or her. Perhaps it wasn't her place to question the actions of others. She had ignored the trials of the other Death Eaters, and she had never been in direct contact with Professor Snape during the war, nor had she known what he was doing. His actions had only been privy to a few select people. Who was she to question their actions? One of the things she had taken away from Hogwarts was that she didn't know everything. In all honesty, since leaving school, she'd never felt so insecure and out of place.
Hermione walked down the darkening streets of London on the way to her residence at the College, as the street lamps came on and the shadows lengthened, her posture became straighter and she walked with a greater sense of purpose. She was who she had always been, Hermione Granger. She'd never let the opinions of others stop her before, why should she now? The past years might have tempered her actions, but never her mind, what had happened to Snape rankled her. His silence and demeanor frightened her, what had happened to him to change him so? Why was the man who had terrorized students for years expunged from every record and thrown into the bowels of Azkaban?
She reached her door and made her way up the floors to her flat, greeting Crookshanks and hanging up her cloak. Like herself, the flat as an amalgamation of the Wizard and Muggle world. Amidst the pictures of her family and friends, were the Wizarding pictures moving in and out of frame, waving and smiling at her as they passed. In her bookshelves were her favorite books from childhood to her texts from Hogwarts. She made herself a cup of tea and settled down on the couch with her cat at her side. Picking up the Charms work she had ignored over the holidays she was deep into the chapter on lasting Charms for Defensive Purposes when a thought struck her. Putting her text down, she drew out her wand, gave it a wave, and with a quick "Accio Hogwarts: A History," the tome flew into her hand.
Perhaps the question wasn't whether Snape was guilty, he obviously had the Dark Mark, but rather why nothing existed or was written about him in the History, unlike every other Hogwarts teacher that had served before him or since. The question was, Hermione thought long into the night as she read, not what Snape had done to deserve Azkaban, but who Snape was. Maybe it was there she'd find some answers.
And some peace.
Two weeks later Hermione was willing to admit defeat. First Master Juglenot had been very disappointed at her lack of progress over the holiday break. Hermione felt the break had been deserved. She had spent the last seven years of her life studying on every free moment. Every other second had been filled with fighting Voldemort, ferreting out plots at the school and doing battle with the forces of evil. She had needed the break. After one particularly bad session, she had broken down. To her surprise Juglenot had laughed. Since then the tutoring sessions had been of a lighter nature and Hermione was thankful. For once she could go to sleep at a reasonable hour. The History hadn't revealed anything of note about Snape. Somehow Hermione had hoped that Ginny had been in error, but she hadn't. Snape was nowhere to be found. She had written to both Ginny and Harry for some information. Ginny to ask if she could see Ginny's paper after it was done. Hermione hoped that even if Ginny hadn't found anything new, perhaps Binns, in his comments had revealed something.
Harry was proving more difficult to get in touch with. Her first letter had been returned by an owl carrying a letter. A form letter that thanked her for writing to Harry Potter, offering her a membership in the 'Harry Potter Fan Club', one year subscription for only one Galleon, and a Harry Potter playing card that swooped up and down, forever catching the snitch. The second letter had contained a missive thanking her for her continued interest in Harry Potter and a note signed personally by Harry himself. In increasing frustration, she'd sent notes and floo'ed both Molly Weasley and Sirius for help, only to be told that the Quidditch team was in retreat preparing for the next World Cup round. They'd promised to help her in contacting Harry, but she'd only have to wait.
So she had. She was going out tonight with the other students in the Masters program. Tomorrow she planned to go to the main Library in Hogsmeade, meet up with Ginny and see if there were any reasons about the strange removal of Severus Snape and his life. Perhaps Ginny might also have some answers, sometimes things were obvious to Wizard born people than to her. There were still times that the obvious to them took her by surprise.
*****
The Dementors were making their nightly rounds among the denizens of Azkaban. From the hospital wing to the lower cells they traveled along the corridors of the prison for their daily feeding. Moving down deeper into the prison, they left in their wake trembling, screaming and sobbing prisoners. It was a rare occasion that they failed to make a person weep. The only one in recent memory, that had not reacted to the Dementors was this one, in the lowest point of the island. So far down, that the cells were beneath the surface of the water of the island. The effect of these cells was an odd sense of disorientation unique to this potion of Azkaban. The air was artificial, the sounds muffled and the time seemed stagnant. It was here the prisoners knew the full scope of their incarceration. They were entombed within bubbles of air, existing only on the whims of a society that had condemned them. They were the forgotten ones. They remained in their cells, allowed nothing. Their hair was kept shorn, lest they use it to hang themselves. For this reason as well, they were not allowed any coverings. Four hundred and twenty-three years ago a prisoner in these cells had used his robes to hang himself. Since then, these prisoners were allowed nothing. Their cells were as bare as their bodies. They were removed once a week by the Dementors to allow for the cells to be cleaned of the waste the prisoners produced, as well as allowing for the upkeep of their hair and bodies. Due to the nature of the cells, these prisoners needed to be hosed down weekly, for if the chore was not done, the stench overpowered even the Dementors. They were removed in sequence, never seeing anyone else except their keepers. At all times the Dementors feasted upon these ones, as they were more readily available to them than all the others. The prisoner in the last cell, puzzled the Dementors. They were unable to feed upon him. He sat unmoving, as he had lain upon the bed in hospital, never reacting. The Dementors tried again and again to draw this one out, yet they had never succeeded.
It was with resignation that the Dementor approached this last remaining cell. This one had never released anything. It approached the door and swept into the cell, swooping down upon the lank, dirty object on the floor. As it neared, a low keening noise was heard. As the Dementor neared, the sound became a wail, which rose to a scream, a howl from a voice not heard in a year. The throat and vocal cords tearing themselves with the force and the sudden use. The Dementor released cries of ecstasy which drew others. Soon the cell was crowded with Dementors as the man howled and writhed beneath them. He was soon coated in bile, blood, urine and feces as his body voided itself and the Dementors flew in and out of his cell, calling to one another as the last man was drained. After an interminable number of minutes had passed the man passed out in a pool of his own fluids. The Dementors left the cell, fully fed at last.
*****
TBC...