DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The references to Peter Pan in this chapter are copyrighted to the estate of, James M. Barrie.
AUTHOR NOTE: Many thanks to the wonderfully talented, Niamh for betaing this story. All of her fics should be on your reading list if you are enjoying, At Any Moment.
Hermione VII
Will to fight and need to prove
Tenacity sparks courage true
Stubborn countenance, intellect and joy
Foresight be her key
Just before eleven o'clock at night...
Why does life have to be so bloody complicated?
I don't want an answer to that one, 'little book', because I've got enough to worry about now without steadily increasing my sense of panic, and I really don't want to know that you've suddenly developed enough sentience to answer anything I might choose to write. I'm quite fond of the idea that I can get things off my chest and you don't answer back. The very last thing I need; with everything else roiling around in my mind, is to find out that I should have been worried about you from the outset – even with the Headmaster's jovial grin when I received you from God knows where!
I wonder...just how many more erratic rambles I can squeeze in before I gather my wits and recount my detention?
Detention is the wrong word, but there is some small comfort in knowing that that's why I went down there – really it is, but well...it was and it wasn't detention. I'm not sure where to start, nor do I know if I really want to start, but I have to...and...and...and it was so strange and horrifying that I'm not even sure how to start, where to start or consider anything that requires me to examine things too closely. None of this, I might add, is actually helping, but it's a case of either writing it down or giving into a perverse amount of irrational panic. So if this really is irrational panic, then I wonder what rational panic is...or if such a thing actually even exists?
Argh! Now I'm even losing my grammar mind...but if I turn around and you've corrected that last bit then I'll really know I'm going mad...or gone mad! The jury's still out on that one.
Sitting here debating the finer points of the grammar universe isn't actually helping, but I'm not sure where to start...or where to finish. I'm not making sense! I hate not making sense, and I hate repeating myself when I know I'm not making sense!
A quarter past eleven at night...
Well, talking to Crookshanks didn't solve anything, and he wasn't in the mood for a cuddle either. He just looked at me as much to say, 'I'm a cat! You do realise this, don't you? Given, I'm a magical cat, but I'm still just a cat, and solving the problems of the universe sits low on my list...unless it means you aren't going to feed me.'
I should have known better, but I'm to the point where I wish you could talk to me, 'little book', and that's the nuttiest suggestion of all!
For once in my life I have no idea what to do and it's scaring me. I'm so used to being able to find an answer when I need it, and now when I'm facing uncertainty, it has me at odds and ends. I don't even know what the right answer is!
I'm even starting to repeat myself and I feel like an idiot. Maybe I am an idiot, but in some small way it's comforting to know that I'm not the only idiot in this whole mess. Professor Snape probably feels like a bigger idiot...not that I'd tell him that to his face, of course, which brings me to the next point.
I can't face him again. I've got no idea how to deal with everything as it is, and then there are his feelings in the whole thing, and I bet he hates me for showing that side of himself to a student. Who am I kidding? He'll take so many points off Gryffindor the next time I have Potions that I'll still be scrubbing out cauldrons when I'm one hundred and two!
I turned up for my detention at seven o'clock as I'd been brutally ordered to do, and at first there was no one in the Potions classroom except for the Bloody Baron...and he's always scared me. I'm not sure what I think of him now that I know he can be a gentleman. He took off his extravagantly plumed hat and bowed low to me as I entered the classroom after my knock was unanswered. I know it sounds utterly ridiculous, but the Baron reminds me of Captain Hook, but unlike Hook, he still has both his hands, and no moustache to twirl between his fingers. It's almost as though the Bloody Baron was the model...or maybe the original Captain Hook? It's something to ponder, not that I'd ever ask him, of course. That cutlass...even though it's only a ghostly cutlass, looks bloody sharp. Anyway, the Baron bowed low as I've written, but then he did the strangest thing...not that the bowing wasn't out of the ordinary, of course. He spoke directly to me. I don't think I can ever recall any times when I've heard the Baron speak at all, and certainly not to a Mudblood, but he was positively chivalrous...and that made me even more suspicious.
With his ostrich plumed hat in his left hand, he made a sweeping gesture with his right arm and asked me to sit near the fire. He apologised for Professor Snape's absence, saying diplomatically that he was currently indisposed and would be with me shortly. He didn't say why he was absent, just that he was...and it was all rather strange even when I think about it now. The Baron introduced himself as Sir Archibald Romsey, privateer and gentleman, and told me he was quite happy for such, 'a sweet lady' as myself to call him, 'Archie.' I must have looked like a stunned mullet, for he quickly called a House Elf – who bowed low to the Bl...Archie and immediately sent up a tray stacked with the most sumptuous cakes and a pot of the most divine hot chocolate.
Once I'd been settled in an armchair near Snape's desk with the largest slice of butter cake that I've ever seen and a mug of hot chocolate, Archie politely inquired about how I was coping with all the changes in my life recently. He didn't sit down on...or float over the hard wooden chair opposite me, but moved his hat nervously around the brim and every so often unselfconsciously stroked the magnificent plume. It's only now that I can even grasp his attempt at 'small talk', but he seemed more nervous around me than I was around him, and that's even stranger. Mind you, with everything else I'm about to write, it was possibly the sanest part of the night!
He seemed genuinely interested in me, asked gently how I was coping with the loss of my parents, and then openly apologised for their 'heinous' murder. He said that he was ashamed to be the Slytherin sentinel when such brutality could be committed against others who had done no wrong to their tormentors. Then he went on to say that he'd considered it a privilege to be able to help in his own small way. When I asked him what he meant, he shuffled his feet and quietly told me that all of the Hogwarts ghosts had taken it upon themselves to guard those orphaned by the murderous intentions of Riddle's followers. Well, that explains Sir Nicholas shadowing me for the last two days, but it makes me wonder just how long I've had a ghostly bodyguard. So I asked him if that's why Sir Nicholas has taken to escorting me to and from my various classes, and then to detention this evening. You could have knocked me over if I hadn't been sitting down when Archie looked at me calmly and said that he was my guardian and that he'd been unfortunately delayed on several occasions; including this afternoon. He told me quite plainly that he'd personally asked Sir Nicholas if he could escort me at those times, as well as to dinner this evening, and then to the dungeons for my detention.
It was about this time that Professor Snape interrupted us, and I didn't get the chance to ask Archie any more questions. I stood hurriedly once I knew Snape was in the room, knocking my untouched cake to the floor and shattering the plate. Before Professor Snape could say anything, Archie had waved his right hand over the mess and left it sitting on the side table – whole and repaired. Then Archie turned to face Professor Snape directly, bowed low to him as he'd done for me earlier, and when Snape bowed low in return I thought I might need to sit down again. If I hadn't actually been there, but had heard this story from someone else, I would never have believed it...never! Archie said he'd, 'await my sweet lady's release and consider it an honour to escort her personage safely to the West Tower.'
I blushed and nodded at Archie, but quickly sobered when I saw the look on Snape's face. He has the 'filthy look' down to a fine art and the only thing he didn't do at that time was curl his upper lip in a sneer. I was so busy concentrating on Snape that I didn't see Archie leave the classroom, but true to his word, Archie was waiting for me when I managed to leave the classroom in tears...after, well after everything.
Oh Hell! I cried in front of a teacher, but he scared me. I've never seen anyone in so much pain...and I hope I never see anything quite like it again. I don't hold much hope of that, but...well I suppose I should just keep writing – after I get rid of the cramp in my hand.
Ten minutes later...
That feels better, but the callous on my right index finger where I rest my quill is going to be sore tomorrow with all this writing.
I can't believe I cried in front of Snape...again. What is it with his ability to leave me red eyed and drained? Mind you, it wasn't really his fault this time, nor the last time, but still it's embarrassing. I bet he thinks I'm just a weak little girl for breaking down at the drop of a hat. The only consolation; and it's not much of one, is that he had very reddened and damp eyes himself after it all.
I hope he's all right, not that I'll ever ask him outright, but still – all that pain...and that mark overlaid with a single word must have left him in no doubt about what was happening. I'm getting ahead of myself again, but all I really want to do now is get this down on paper and then fall into bed.
After Archie left the Potions classroom, I moved to stand in front of Professor Snape's imposing desk with my hands lightly clasped in front of me. I wasn't actually trying to be demure, but I was worried that talking to the Slytherin House ghost whilst sitting in my teacher's chair drinking hot chocolate was possibly...probably fairly stupid considering exactly which teacher I'd imposed upon. Add to all of this the fact that I was actually supposed to be serving detention and it all seems like a death wish...which I'm sure is why he made me use my good cauldron brush to scrub out the encrusted remnants of a Cheering potion I can remember making in second year. I bet he got his jollies knowing that I'd ruined a stiff wire brush worth twenty quid, or perhaps he did it deliberately because my Muggle brush was much better than the shoddy magical version sold at the Apothecary in Hogsmeade.
I don't know the real answer, but I'm stalling again.
Six cauldrons later I was starting to wonder if all the students had failed the assignment or if Snape had deliberately asked the students to leave their cauldrons unwashed...and then magically baked on the remnants in each one...especially for me. I don't know that I want to examine that too closely, but I wouldn't put it past the bastard to have done just that!
Every time I finished with a cauldron, I made a point of carrying it back across the classroom to the shelves near his desk. At one point; with only two cauldrons left to clean, I looked up at him and faltered in my step. He was sitting behind his desk just staring off into space...and he was sweating. I could see the droplets beading on his forehead and he looked deathly pale too. Well he looked more deathly pale than he usually does at any rate. I nearly went over to see if he was all right, but I just kept moving and then went back to the sink and started scrubbing out the next cauldron. Sometimes, even my self-preservation bone overrides my insanely stupid curiosity bone!
I didn't finish cleaning that cauldron or the last one. All of a sudden there was a loud crash that startled me so much that I dropped the cauldron in the iron sink and had to hold onto the edge of the basin to catch my breath and stop my heart pounding. When I looked around, Professor Snape was on the floor, squeaking. I'm sure he'd have been mortified to have heard the high pitched noise he was making, but I suspect he was trying his hardest not to scream in front of a student...well, me in this instance. I rushed over to him, but I couldn't get close as he kept trying to kick my feet from under me. I don't think he meant it, but it was like he was having a fit or something...and I didn't know what to do. I don't know how long it took me to realise that I needed help, but it felt like an eternity and then I couldn't find the bloody Floo powder on his mantle. I didn't want to leave him...in case he hurt himself even more, so I just moved outside his reach and tried to talk to him and see if I could get through to him.
Nothing seemed to work and I was so shocked by it all that I didn't even think of getting my wand and try to freeze his jerking movements. I heard a sharp snap and saw his left arm hanging at an odd angle. It was all floppy...like he'd broken his arm and although I now know that he did break both his radius and ulna, he also completely dislocated his elbow just to add to the terror of the whole thing. It didn't stop him thrashing around...at all.
I felt so useless. It was as if all of my knowledge was irrelevant and it just highlighted that I had no practical help to offer. I didn't even realise I was crying until I tasted salt, but I just kept trying to get through to Professor Snape. It seemed like hours before he started to quiet, but now that I think back on it, all of his 'fit' happened in a little over a minute. I know I looked up and spied his clock sitting on the mantelpiece near where his Floo powder should have been, but it still seems like it was forever.
I feel so exhausted that I'm not quite sure how I can even begin to describe my fatigue.
I had the sense to grab my wand off the front of his desk, then moved around to the left of his desk and knelt down near his head. I quickly made sure that I wouldn't hurt him even more if I touched him, and when my wand glowed pale green, I gently pushed back the curtain of hair covering his eyes, rolled him over and cradled the back of his head in my lap. I don't know what I said, but I just hope I was able to soothe him in some small way, and strangely enough I think I soothed my own raw nerves even though I wasn't thinking about myself at the time.
Once he was a bit more alert, Professor Snape whimpered quietly and tried to draw away from me, but I wouldn't let him move. I softly shushed him, putting the tips of my fingers gently against his lips as he tried to talk in between these odd little sounds of pain and embarrassment. His eyes kept looking at me as though he was trying to find the words to apologise for his behaviour, but I just kept telling him quietly that everything would be all right and that help would arrive soon, even though I really didn't have any idea if anyone was even aware of what had happened. I also ran my hand gently through his hair like Mum used to do for me when I was sick. It soothed me as a child, but I couldn't help noticing that Professor Snape seemed to flinch every time my hand made a sweep at the edge of his vision.
Rather than patronising him, I asked Professor Snape gently if I could have a look at his left arm as it was lying with the elbow at an angle that I knew would have been impossible normally. He tried to shake his head and move away from me, but he was so weak that I had no trouble in stilling his shoulders with my open palms and telling him to be still and save his strength. I also told him that I wouldn't hurt him and that he would not hear the highlights of this evening from any of the other students, or anyone else...ever. I asked him if he trusted me, and he nodded his head as best he could, then I followed his line of sight to his arm.
He trusted me. I could see that trust written so plainly on his face that it took my breath away. I picked up my wand and told him I was going to perform a cutting charm on his torn sleeve. I dropped my wand in shock once I saw his bare arm. It was horrifying and he tried again; unsuccessfully, to move away from me. It's an image that's been burned into my brain, but Professor Snape's spying has been revealed in the most gruesome way imaginable.
Voldemort left his Dark Mark intact, but over the top of it...well, it's as though the veins and arteries in his left arm re-formed themselves to spell out a single word – SPY! I ran my left hand lightly over the top of his arm – without touching the skin, and I could feel the heat rising from the dusty grey surface of his forearm. I started crying again then, partly in shock and partly because of the malice that would cause someone to knowingly do that to another human being. I don't remember placing my hand back on his left shoulder, but the next thing I knew he'd placed his right hand over my left and patted it gently to try and get my attention. I looked at him again then and he softly managed to tell me in between laboured breaths that it was bound to happen sooner or later.
I don't remember much more after that, except that I shuffled back, leant forward awkwardly and lightly kissed him near the top of his right temple. Then I rested back on my haunches, covered my face with my hands and sobbed.
I don't know how long I stayed like that, but all too soon Madame Pomfrey was giving orders to Professor Dumbledore and Archie was standing next to the Headmaster. Then Professor Dumbledore gave me a vial of Dreamless Sleep Potion and asked Archie to see me back to my room. The Headmaster also asked The Baron if he'd remain outside my door just in case I got the urge to go wandering about looking for trouble.
I'm so tired that I don't think I could crawl out of my room 'looking for trouble.'
Just before midnight...I was nearly asleep when Sir Archibald called out to me through my door and without waiting for an answer, barrelled through the wood to stand at the end of my bed. Without looking directly at me, he told me that he'd been asked to escort me to the Teachers Lounge and that I had to bring my journal...this journal with me. He wouldn't tell me why, even though I think he knows more than he said, but he was most insistent that I bring you with me, and that I wasn't to remove any pages from you. I will have to hang on to you so that no one tries to read what I've written about so many things.
Professor Dumbledore once told me you were perfectly safe and that I was 'well favoured' to receive you, but at this very moment I'm not so sure. I have to go now as I told Archie I just needed to get dressed.
My instincts tell me that things are about to get a lot worse...and not even in my wildest nightmares did I think that would have been possible after today.
Constructive criticism, comments and reviews are most welcome!