Chapter 20: Haunted Slumber and Its Demise
"... If I smile and don't believe... soon I know I'll wake from this dream... don't try to fix me I'm not broken... hello..." Evanescence - Hello
Go to – her official site. It has some gr8 stuff and information she didn't put in the books.
So far:
They are now moved into their new hiding house which they will be staying in until Voldemort is gone. Draco and Ginny had a small... erm... "tiff". Hermione has found a small yet helpful vent for her frustration and confessed to Ginny what is really hurting her more than anything else (nothing more than the obvious). I almost left this story entirely at this point – left it for a week but then forced myself to continue and now I'm glad I did – wouldn't have bothered without your reviews so thank yourselves!!
And that was how she spent her time.
Waking late afternoon and crashing into the bed covers at early morning, night had switched places with day. This suited her fine because she had all of a sudden taken an unusual liking to the dark. Curtains were folded shut over her windows 24/7 and the only light in the room was the dim glow from several candles spread sparsely around the room on high metal stands and on the corners of her wooden desk.
She never left the room. Never. She had a bathroom attached to her room. Her shaken friends would bring her meals up on a tray. They would try and engage her in conversation. She would answer bluntly and try and get rid of them, not wanting to talk.
The others hardly spoke among each other with the silent understanding that it wasn't time to talk about it yet. Barely a week had passed with no disturbing news from Dumbledore. It seemed that Hermione would not be missed until the next meeting where her absence would be noticed. They often heard smashing noises but didn't worry... they knew what she was doing and tried not let it get to them.
Ginny was a nervous wreck and she and Draco weren't speaking. It was peculiar. Draco had been accepted by Harry and Ron because of her but now he was speaking with them as though they were old friends and she was shut out by him coldly. She was paying for her moment of testiness. She jumped at the slightest movement.
Hermione didn't know anything, as she repeated to herself over and over in her mind. She couldn't feel anything at the moment. Her eyes were dry for tears. She couldn't cry any more. She just stared blankly at the battered wall as she hurled her "inventions" at it. She had regained a secure use of her muscles and body parts so she did not collapse or shake wildly if she so much as moved. She appeared normal in every way except for her eyes which looked so old and worn it was disturbing. They were still brown, still wide almond-shaped, but the shining sparkle of youth was long gone from them.
She would have thought, with all she had been through as Harry Potter's friend that she would have been better prepared for this or at least it wouldn't have such a strong effect on her. She had considered herself mature but was she really? She knew that now she was. She was better off without thinking about things that had happened in her past. All of them were painful memories because they all led back to Severus.
She chucked a ball extra hard at the wall at the thought of him. How could he have DONE that to her?! Screaming didn't help – it just made her throat sore.
Just as the thing flew through the air and hit the wall, shattering into a thousand pieces, there was a soft knocking on the door. Hermione ignored it, knowing they would enter anyway. She sunk down into a sitting position on the side of her king-sized bed and watched the closed door. Her hair was a tangled fluffy mass once more and more disheveled and frizzy than ever before, for lack of care. She was sticking to muggle clothes, despite a wardrobe full of different colored robes in her size.
Now she was in a pair of jeans and a red t-shirt and watched the door blankly as the handle turned... the door opened a little forward, hesitantly... and then swung open fully. She blinked at the dazzling sunlight that flooded the hall and squeezed into her room at the opportunity. Her hands lay in her lap heavily and her shoulders were slouched forward tiredly.
Standing in the bright light was Ron who was tall enough to keep out most of the bright light. She recognized the sad look on his face but felt nothing for it.
He stepped into the room, large try with plates of food in his hands, and shut the door behind him with his foot by habit. They all knew by now to do so as Hermione wished. He was silent as he looked around the room and took a couple of steps over to the desk and placed the tray down on the corner of it, keeping his pitying eyes on Hermione.
He then turned back to her and walked over to sit on the bed beside her. Hermione could have rolled her eyes if they didn't hurt. This was the part where they attempted to drag more painful words from her mouth. She would act as she always did, if she could help it: short answers and strong hints of wanting privacy.
She could smell the hot food on the tray and it made her stomach churn and increased her nausea. She swallowed but it didn't help.
Ron sat down carefully beside her and looked at her. She looked back. What did he expect? His lop-sided friendly face was too severe to suit it. His expression was serious and curious. Curious... what did he want to know?
"How are you doing?" he asked nervously. Hermione wanted to let out a breath in a long hiss but held herself back. The classic most tactless question anyone could ask: how are you doing? She frowned slightly and decided to give him an honest answer.
"Terribly," she said hoarsely with a voice so quiet it was barely above a whisper. In her mind she had planned to snap at him. It came out so differently. Ron looked a little guilty and shifted on the bed uncomfortably, looking away from her for moment.
"Hermione..." he took a deep breath as though he had been planning how to say this and still didn't know how, "Look what's happened to you!" he finally said and the look of relief and anxiety on his face was a strong mingle of two feelings not to be mixed. "You haven't left this room for days, since we arrived! You have to work to get over this! Shutting yourself away in your room won't make it heal! Even your cat avoids you!"
He obviously was putting their friendship on the line to tell her this vital advice. He thought it was worth it and Hermione saw through it immediately. If she hadn't she might have found his words infuriating. He said it in a rush and gave Hermione a worried look and held his breath visibly as if waiting for the blow.
When Hermione forced herself to put on a very strained smile for the first time since this had happened, Ron was almost knocked off his feet (lucky he was sitting). He released his breath and frowned at her in confusion. It was a painful smile to observe, pulling the tired invisible strings in her cheeks to draw the flesh to either side. Her eyes stayed serious and untouched by the expression.
"What?" he asked uneasily, eyeing Hermione's scary expression with caution.
"I know you care," she started. Her voice was painful but she had to get the words out. "Thank you for trying to help... but I don't think forcing myself to sit in the brightness or talk normally will make it get any better either. All I wish is to sit here until I'm numb enough to emerge..." She sighed and looked at the floor. Ron seemed to be struggling to understand.
"You've just forgotten how the atmosphere really helps the mood. Bloody hell, Hermione, I just walk in here and feel depressed! At least open the curtains..." this was the farthest he had got to understanding Hermione these days and since he had scratched the surface he was going to try and see how far he could dig.
Hermione shook her head vigorously then stopped and pressed a hand to her forehead as though it had hurt to do that small action."I don't want light. I can see fine. It helps block the memories..." she said quietly and talked to her lap, keeping her eyes on the floor. Ron looked at her hard from the side as if trying to see whether she was up to answering his next questions. He decided to risk it.
"What memories?" he sucked in a breath and held it to wait for her reply. Hermione kept staring at the floor for a moment before closing her eyes softly, lashes brushing her cheeks. Her hair hung in a fluffy heap around her face.
She took a deep breath before answering. "Severus," was all she said. Ron visibly flinched in the thin orange glow. His expression darkened at the name of who had caused them to move from what was looking out to be a reasonably great new life out of Hogwarts and come into hiding with their friend.
"What about him?" he asked coldly. Hermione ignored his tone. If he was going to ask, then he must expect an answer, whether it was what he wanted to hear or not.
"I miss him... I hate him and miss him... you don't know... he was wonderful..." Ron looked as though he was facing some horrible internal struggle of the most painful sort. He had asked Hermione not to discuss Snape with him but since this was something she obviously needed to get off her chest, was he willing to put old grudges aside? For his friend he would do anything, he concluded and grimaced as he thought so.
"T-tell me about him." Hermione looked up at him, opening her eyes, startled. "If you want to," he added hurriedly, to make clear that she didn't have to if it was too raw. She could see his grimace but his honesty as well. It was almost hard to look at his torn expression but Hermione really wanted to talk about it and if Ron was willing to hear she would tell. At last she was ready to tell...
"He... he..." she was at a loss. What could she say about him without imagining his face and his obedient expression...? "It was like we shared minds... we didn't need to talk to know how much we..." she choked and spat out the next word, "-loved each other. At least that's what I used to think... I don't know any more..." She took a huge sigh and closed her eyes again because they had all of a sudden regained their ability to overflow. She wondered if she might cry again. "I told myself I loved him... But I never truly knew who he was, did I?... In such a short period of time I got convinced I had found what I wanted... did I? Did I really?... I had no right to make such a judgment... I didn't mistake infatuation for love... I see that now... I just fell in love with someone who didn't exist and all my affections fell to him... He took them without asking questions and used me... that's what he did... But why do I still want him here to comfort me?" She shuddered and pinched her eyes shut tighter.
"He'll get what he deserved... don't worry..." he said comfortingly to try and console her but it had the opposite affect as she stiffened and her eyes snapped open. She turned to stare at Ron looking horrified, eyes wide and countenance drawn.
"You're right," she said with distinct panic in her tone. Ron didn't understand what there was to worry about. Hermione began to visibly shiver for a moment, looking horror-struck.
Without warning she buried her face in the palms of her hands to hide a fat tear leaking down her face and began to tremble harder as she sobbed. Ron was stunned for a moment before he did the most natural thing that came to him; it was what his mother always did whenever someone cried.
He pulled her closer in a warm embrace by an arm at her back and Hermione gasped before leaning into her friend for security. She held onto him weakly as he held her and sobbed uncontrollably into the robes of his chest. He was uncomfortable and didn't know what had set her off. While she let out some more of the pent up emotions, he cast a look around the room. It was still gloomy. The desk had a small pile of books on it beside the tray of food (that was stinking the whole room).
At length her sobs grew more and more apart until it was down to hiccoughing ragged breathing. Only once she was silent did he speak.
"What's the matter?" he asked her concernedly and Hermione kept her face hidden from his view, against him. He could feel her struggle for air for her reply.
"What's V-Voldemort going to do t-to him when I don't show up for the next meeting?" she stuttered into his chest then let loose a quiver of revolt. Her face was going blotchy from crying, rapidly. Another bout of tears threatened to consume her. It was all she could do to stave them off with deep quaking breaths as Ron was lost in confusion.
He wanted to open his mouth and repeat that he deserved it but her reaction was hard to understand. She was crying over his punishment? After all he had put her through... He could not comprehend. And then he saw how distraught she was. Maybe it wasn't the mark alone that was hanging over her... He didn't want to consider it. He had done everything in his power to avoid thinking of Hermione and Snape together...
He could feel the texture of the bandages she wore on her arm at his back and felt a fresh surge of hatred. He really was a slimy git... he just hadn't realized to what extents. He had tricked Hermione into this. What the hell did Dumbledore think he was doing fraternizing with scum like that?!
Turning back to the problem at hand (Hermione crying against him), he did not have any words of comfort in defense of that greasy bat so changed the topic. He had some news for her that might cheer her up.
"I've been in contact with Jemma College and they said I could collect your first assignments in advance and I have the list of books recommended as well as plenty extra books to read on the side. I specifically told them you love to read and I have a nice large list..." Only Hermione would be cheered up by the thought of tons of work. She stopped shaking and it seemed as though she was considering his words.
"Really?" she said hopefully, finally leaning back from him a little. He grinned at her and nodded. The corners of her lips pulled back into the closest thing to a real smile yet. It gave Ron a new kind of hope and he felt better than he had all week.
"Yeah... you can sit and work until you drop!" he told her enthusiastically. Hermione squeezed him once tightly before letting go. "Just promise to bring your book downstairs to read sometime... it's really a nice house..."
"Ron... you really are a wonderful friend."
Ron had left with hopes that she was on her way to some form of recovery and Hermione had watched him leave feeling like he was taking some of her fears and heavy thoughts with him. She realized, the second he closed the door, that hiding away could not accomplish anything. She knew she didn't much feel like anything else but looking around the room she found his judgment to be correct. It was pretty gloomy.
She, without feeling completely dragged down and useless, withdrew her wand from her pocket carefully, gave it a glance and then pointed it at the curtains. They flung themselves open immediately under the wand's command and swung limply in their place. The outside light of day spilled inside gleefully in torrents through the enormous window and in a moment the room was filled with it. She had squinted at first but didn't close them again.
It actually made her feel very light-headed for a moment and if she hadn't been sitting cross-legged on the end of her four-poster bed then her vision may have clouded from the dizziness. But as it so happened nothing resulted other than a new emotion... well... maybe it wasn't new but it was a fresh sensation after all that sorrow and depression. She was still feeling like a heavy weight was placed on her heart and she still struggled to breathe normally but... there was a small ray of hope for a normal life making itself clearer.
She took a deep breath and then turned and pointed her wand at the candles around the room in turn sharply. They all snuffed in turn under the wand and when they were all out she withdrew her arm and put her hands, one still clutching her wand, in her lap between her folded legs. The room actually looked a lot more comfortable in the light than the dark. She gazed openly around the room with a wondrous expression. How could she have missed the wall color: a deep blood red that was a lot brighter when the sun hit it. The bed covers were sea green under her weight. It was a fairly large room with plenty of space and she was surprised to see that there was a muggle light switch by the door. How could she not have noticed that in over a week in this room?
She supposed this must be a muggle house then. How had the others managed to figure out how the oven and appliances worked without her? Then she remembered Harry. Dear Harry, who had fallen once for the wrong person and had the best heart she could hope for in a friend; how had he taken this news? She had been so wrapped up in herself she had no idea what everyone else was feeling. Why had Ginny been so shaky recently?
She was so behind in what was happening around her. It was as if life had started to move without her. She had to catch it up, even it was a strain on her heart. She would not, could not fall behind. She didn't even know what the house looked like!
Turning her head to her right, to look out through the ceiling to floor window, she saw that the sun was sinking in the sky and the half cloud-line was tinted a very pale pink. She frowned at it in confusion. Was it sunset already? But she had only woken up a few hours ago... Had her sleeping pattern gone so far astray?
Maybe she would force herself to try and get it straight again by going to bed at a more respectable time tonight. But not yet.
She turned back from the window to stare at the red wall facing her with apparent interest before throwing herself backwards onto the soft bed, wand still gripped in her hand, comforting beneath her fingers. She collapsed, splayed across the gigantic covers and the weight of sorrow pressed in on her from all sides, as usual. But for once, despite all the heaviness on her chest, she could breathe freely and normally. It was peculiar and heartening.
But one less elevating thought struck her: time didn't help heal the wound; it just numbed and smothered the pain. She blinked up at the ceiling and Severus' face swam into view behind her eyes. How would he be feeling?
Severus, to say the least, was having a terrible time. Torn between self-hatred and misery he was in a completely different state as he had been when Stella had died.
Speaking of Stella...
He shuddered in his green chair by the put out fire. His face was paler than usual between his lank black hair and he was thinner than ever. One thing that differed now was that he could think straight. He couldn't sleep and had more time to sort through his never ending dilemmas.
He was sitting in his last winged green armchair with Decimus curled up peacefully on his thighs. He was purring contentedly, finding nothing to be miserable about. Occasionally his pointed black ear would twitch and his tail flicker. He didn't appear to be aware of his master's despondency. Severus was frowning, his right elbow propped on the arm of the chair and his chin held by his fingers. He was more than frowning, glowering into the unlit fireplace as he tried to sift through everything.
He had been given more to regret and keep his mind worked to last him an eternity. Lucius... that prick... had sent him a guiltless confession of something else in a letter that congratulated him on Hermione. How dare he give his approval! He had stated how he was glad that he had managed to turn a possible weakness into a strength and more similar evil bullshit. It made him bristle in fury when he had read it and sting with pain at the loss of Hermione... until he had got to the part about Stella.
His sister... always there but in the background. Why hadn't he spoken with her sooner before her demise? That's another regret to add to that growing pile about the size of a mountain. What did it matter now? What affect would it have to feel bad other than to depress him further? He would leave that regret for later.
Anyway... her disapproval of his Dark Order business obviously was noticed by more than himself. He should have seen it coming, should have warned her. She was a... weakness. Weaknesses had no place in the Circle and Lucius, forever the concerned friend, did Severus the grand favor of disposing of her – having noticed he himself was too attached to do the job. To cover his own trail he had used a poison Severus was well familiar with. It was so sweet, so simple. Why hadn't he noticed the pattern? Too late now. Oh, how badly he wanted to get Lucius alone in a room and then do as he wished with him.
The muscles in his shoulders seized up in rage and he clenched his left hand into a fist. His fingertips pressed into his palms painfully but he took no notice. Decimus continued his droning purrs and Severus ignored the cat as much as the cat ignored him.
More than anything, any other wretched emotion, he missed Hermione. Dumbledore had been to check on him several times, never telling him where Hermione was. He was aware that Hermione had moved. He had apparated to her shared apartment and found it to be deserted. He had done that the very next day and now... now it was ten days... ten long never-ending days which he had barely survived. Dumbledore had told him this much: Hermione had bestowed her whereabouts in the form of Weasley by the Fidelius Charm.
All he needed now was to find Weasley and ask for her hiding place. If he had any brains (and this he seriously doubted – resulting in serious flaws to match) he would understand how necessary it was for him to speak with Hermione. But Weasley was apparently staying in the house which he was concealing... where else could he find him?
Hermione's change did not go unnoticed. Ginny had been ecstatic and despite her kind words and cheerfulness, Hermione saw more than ever how shaken and nervous Ginny appeared to be. She spent the next hour worrying for her friend more than for herself. But after coming to dead ends and deciding that at the present time she could do nothing for Ginny, she had retracted back to a floating kind of self-pity and misery.
The sun set slowly and Hermione decided to leave her curtains open for the night; she worried that should the morning come she would change her mind and not want to open them.
Lying, still and pale as death itself and just thinking, she sat there until the fading light left her room entirely. She hardly noticed as the color around her changed from white to orange to a light pink to a dark purple and slowly to the color of her Death Eater Robes, now sitting a shredded pile of material ripped to pieces under her bed along with the incredibly bent mask she failed to snap in half. Only once when she blinked did she realize that the day had simply melted away and it was now black in her room.
Staying sprawled, she had jabbed her wand in the direction of candles which burst back into life. She could see the room again and to her right the window stood, revealing the stars and a large expanse of uninhabited land that looked much like a meadow or field surrounded by an expanse of trees. It was hard to tell... all she knew was that there was a lot of space.
The frustration had softened.
She didn't feel completely helpless and her body wasn't weighed and fused to the bed beneath her. She felt physically fine, for the first time since... since the ceremony. But her head was still spinning, fuzzy with pain. It was a huge improvement from not being able to breathe. But the sorrow still squeezed at her brain and if she considered it too much it would squeeze at her chest.
She closed her eyes and stilled the image of Severus, snide and cold bearing down on her in the classroom. The time she had slipped and fallen – the rush to her head when he had helped her up. What an inexplicably frustrating feeling it was now. What was once pleasant was now hurtful to recall.
She stayed in her jeans and t-shirt sprawled back onto the bed, wand in her hand, hair a messy puddle of a pillow behind her and a serene serious expression as she kept her eyes loosely closed.
Thinking of the time when she had been so certain of her own warped happily-ever-after she didn't notice when she fell asleep. Her thoughts melted and bled into her dreams in smudgy colors to make it impossible to tell which was which anymore.
She woke with a start in exactly the same position she had fallen asleep. Her eyes snapped open and for a moment she didn't realize she was fully clothed, something clutched tightly in her cramped right hand, half hanging off the bed. Her eyes were painful and it felt as though they were puffy and sore from dried tears. Had she cried in her sleep?
She blinked and frowned at the white ceiling in confusion then it came back to her.
The light that filled the room was a hued baby blue of the rising sun and she must have woken earlier than ever because of the strange new amount of light. Her heart leapt into her throat and her pupils constricted as she realized all that had happened and she gasped softly. Then everything settled down: her heart returned to its normal place and she released the breath swiftly. She watched the ceiling for a moment longer and then glanced out of the corner of her eye at the rest of the room.
The candles were still alight and down to liquid stubs in their holders. The flames flickered feebly and she decided to let them put themselves out. But what caught her eye was something on her desk that had definitely not been there last night. The tray of uneaten food had been removed and in its place was a stack of thick books and a small pile of papers next to them. A pile of new quills and several ink bottles of different colors were organized neatly at one corner of the desk. They must be the books Ron had told her about. He had gone to get them for her... He really was a good friend.
She closed her eyes shortly as she put all her strength into sitting upright. Her muscles were stiff but refreshed. They needed stretching. She didn't want to leave the comfort of her new room that she had already grown attached to but her legs and shoulders were taut, however, it was nothing compared with the squeezing cramp in her right hand which held the wand she had held onto through the night.
It was after she noted these pains in succession that she realized something was amiss. She sat upright now, legs still spread out before her, as she puzzled the thing she had forgotten. It came to her in a horrid jolt to her memory. Her left forearm... under the bandages... it was supposed to sting, supposed to throb... But as she mentally prepared herself for the dull ache she had so blissfully forgotten, none came.
She looked down warily at her bandaged arm. The thin meshed material had been a distinct white before but where now down to a pale grey from neglect and several soakings in the shower. It was perfectly calm and no blistering heat emanated in waves under them.
At first Hermione wasn't sure if she hadn't simply lost the ability to feel pain but the spasm in her right hand proved that theory false. She shrugged it off and proceeded to clamber over the end of her bed almost getting swallowed in the sinking softness of it. She escaped the comfortable clutches and her feet managed to support her weight, though her muscles did not quite agree.
Alright, she would go and explore the house. But first... breakfast. Her stomach was contracted tightly into a twisted knot from lack of food. She had neglected her lunch and dinner because she had not wanted them. Now she had no particular problem with a good sized muffin and the growling from within her convinced her to go downstairs. She could not expect to wait for the others to bring it up to her.
She put her left hand to her stomach as if to soothe it and with the other hand she slipped the slender piece of wood into the pocket of her unchanged, creased jeans.
Her hair fell about in a misshapen unkempt mass of curly brown frizz and her expression remained eerily grim as she walked over to the door, casting the books a longing glance as she went.
She grabbed the handle and, with a deep breath, flung the door open towards herself, to see what lay beyond. She could hardly remember the trip up to her room, being a colored tearstained blur in her memory. It was brightly lit, even brighter than her room, and filled with doors all the way to the end of the landing at the beginning of the stairs. There must have been about twenty rooms in all on this floor alone. If they were about the size of her bedroom, and judging by the spacing, they were, then the size of the house must be enormous. If Dumbledore hadn't been setting this house aside then she was certain they would have ended up in a cramped disused space like number twelve Grimmauld Place.
She crept along the empty landing, eyes wide as she took in everything from the size of the windows to the hanging tapestries. What would Severus think of this place? She pinched her eyes shut tight and shook her head to try and shake the thought but all she managed was to make the dull ache in her skull grow. She couldn't think of him. Not now. Not ever. She was going to go downstairs for breakfast and some useless hurtful memory wasn't going to stop her.
She took a deep breath that heaved her chest then opened her eyes again.
She took her time going down the stairs with a hand on the banister. She still didn't trust her own body yet and the last thing she needed was to fall down the stairs and break something.
The downstairs was just as large and spacious as upstairs, if not more so. There were fewer rooms that were much larger and from a glimpse through a half closed door she saw one enormous room with chandeliers and candelabras and a fusty classic atmosphere with gold embroidered scarlet cushions scattered all over the floor where the chairs should have been. But, ruining the Victorian atmosphere completely, was a large muggle cinema spread across the wall at the opposite end of the room. It didn't look as though anyone had used this room at all.
She kept walking straight past it despite her curiosity because her stomach let out an angry growl and there was the smell of warm breakfast cooking coming from the room directly under hers in the position of the house. There was a silence coming from the room and for one moment she worried whether there were house elves here that had been making her meals instead of her friends. But upon closer approach she heard mumblings of the familiar voices and the chink of knives and forks.
She approached the tall white painted door and hesitated before pushing it open. The weight of the door was incredibly heavy, or maybe she was just incredibly weak after not moving much for a week and a half. It swung open and instantly there was silence followed by a loud collection of clatters and splashes.
Ginny was sitting at one end of the table with a knife, applying butter to her toast. Her hand was still loosely held in the position to swipe even though the knife had clattered out of her grip as she stared at Hermione in disbelief. Hers wasn't the only to drop. Ron had lost hold of his spoon which landed in his cereals, creating a tidal wave of milk and bits and splashing flecks up into his face. He hardly noticed the mess. Harry dropped his empty plate, he had been setting down, into the sink with a noisy clank.
They were all gawping at her and she should have expected it. The only one who didn't drop his cutlery and only appeared mildly interested was Draco. He looked on her with surprise in his silver eyes. His gaze was purposely avoiding Ginny's. If she were to apologize then he would not mind; he was starting to feel bad without her, not that he would ever admit that to her without said apology.
Hermione looked around the room. She was met by Ron's milk-streaked face surrounding his bright blue eyes, Harry's stunned expression and Ginny who looked horribly torn between miserable and overjoyed. She hardly picked up on how Ginny and Draco were sitting as far apart as possible. She was still feeling slightly dizzy.
She moved forward into the room and let the door swing shut behind her. A silence ensued that normally would have made her very uncomfortable but right this second she only had two things on her mind: breakfast and Severus. The latter had no place in her thoughts but the concentration she paid to banishing it took up too much of her mental energy.
"Hermione!" gasped Ron at last, sputtering and splaying flakes of bran and specks of milk. Draco eyed him with mild disgust as Ron used the sleeve of his blue robes to wipe his face free of his breakfast. "What would you like to eat?" his voice was muffled by his sleeve but still enthusiastic. He raised his red brows at her questioningly as he squashed his cheek up his face roughly with his clothed fist, removing spots of milk.
Hermione wanted to grin at them to prove she was feeling better but she couldn't manage more than a meek flicker of the corners of her mouth. Ginny looked dead proud of Hermione for making it down the stairs and Harry still had a hand hanging in the air over his dropped plate as he watched her, making sure she truly was there.
"Anything you've got," she replied, looking to each of their faces, "I'm starved..." Ginny beamed at her and Harry broke out into a grin of relief that threatened to touch his ears.
Ginny felt it was nothing less than necessary to drag Hermione around each room in turn now that she had regained the precious ability to move around. She did not consider for a moment that forcing her to see every room would make her want to crawl back into her bedroom and lock the door.
Luckily it did not have this effect, although Hermione made a lot of verbal protests about seeing the whole house in one go. She argued that leaving rooms a mystery gave her something to do over her time she was to spend in this house. Ginny would not hear a word of it. Hermione gave up in the end and let herself be led from room to room.
She had to admit that the size of the house was to extents she had never seen in anything less than a manor. What she wanted to see was the grounds but that was impossible today. The clouds were bursting with explosions of rain that showered down in deadly pellets, shaking the glass in their window frames. The sky was dark gray and Hermione kept shooting longing looks at the howling spattering scene through the shivering windows every time they passed one in the hall.
She was convinced that in the end, even though Ginny will have shown her every room, that she would still have to explore this house because there were too many rooms to remember their location and contents. No two rooms looked the same.
Ginny shoved open door after door, likewise shoved Hermione into the room with equal force and explained who used each room most, what purpose they served (though this was already obvious) and even stumbled across a few new rooms herself too.
It was now a full month and a week since they had moved in and Hermione was regaining control of her tear-ducts steadily but surely. Severus face still loomed over her in bed at nights when the lights went out and Hermione had grown to fear the dark. The blackness actually did the opposite of what she had thought it did and dragged up cozy images of snuggling by the fire that induced a fear related fever.
Morning came and she could use all her concentration to push him aside from her present thoughts but he lurked in the back of her mind, haunting her.
Hermione was pushed into yet another room and to her surprise found it to be full of muggle mechanisms that took a split second to recognize as gym machines. There was a treadmill and a bike and many arm and thigh machines and she suppressed a faint smirk when Ginny informed her with a confused frown: "I still haven't figured out what this room is for yet..." and gave it a glare to make it a challenge of hers to figure out what this odd shaped pieces of metal were for.
But she had still not spoken properly with Ginny all the time she had come up and sat perched on the end of her bed while Hermione either studied or read. Ginny would stare out of the window, with no purpose other than to keep her company for the many hours she spent bent dangerously close to parchments, quill scratching and flowing over the paper.
She had asked, halfheartedly, why she did not spend her time downstairs. Surely Draco wanted to see her. Ginny went misty-eyed for a moment but her tone was eerily convincing when she replied that she spent plenty of time with Draco and that Hermione was a priority.
Another door.
Would they never stop? Hermione kept her eyes closed this time when she was frog-marched inside by a forcefully light hand at her back.
But when Ginny did not speak, giving her usual commentary, Hermione opened her eyes in confusion. She twisted round and looked over her shoulder at Ginny's face. Ginny had gone slightly rigid and stared at the room before swallowing harshly. Hermione looked back in the room and found nothing to fear. It looked quite cozy, a room with squashy grey armchairs and a warming amount of sunlight.
Glancing back at Ginny she was surprised again to find her turning to leave. "Lets go," she mumbled to Hermione as she did.
"Wait a minute!" Hermione exclaimed, catching Ginny by the wrist. Ginny had been everything she could ask in a friend to her. She had to return the favor and at least find out what was so distressing about this plain room. Ginny looked up from the hand on her wrist, to the grey bandages around her arm and then up to her weathered eyes.
Hermione blinked. Ginny's blue eyes were watering.
"Are you ok...?" Hermione asked softly, bending her head a little to keep eye contact as Ginny looked at her toes. Ginny began to nod vigorously then stopped abruptly. Very slowly she shook it and kept staring at the floor.
...
Hermione did not want to feel worse. It was the one thing she had thought would destroy her... but after hearing what Ginny had to say she was left with guilt. She had been selfish and self-pitying enough to think that no one suffered as she did. To be sure, Ginny's troubles did not match up to hers but they brought her back to the realization that she was not alone. Who else knew her extents? No one she could think of but if they could pull themselves through enough to walk and talk and appear normal then she was either weak or a coward.
She had left Ginny in the room, feeling fuzzy-brained and heavy but refused to let herself succumb to any wish to sleep away the hours.
Ginny seemed for the better with the knowledge shared and a valuable piece of advice for her to mull over ('Just go and talk to him. You know he's too proud to approach you himself. I'm sure he misses you...').
She cast a glace over her shoulder and returned to her bedroom.
"Hermione!" Ron called up the stairs.
Ron's brows were pulled together into a rough frown of confusion and seriousness that followed a peculiar incidence. In his arms he cradled a heavy stack of books and several parchments. He didn't know what to make of what had just fallen through. All he did know was that Hermione needed to be the first to hear. "Hermione!"
He heard a far off door creak open and followed by soft footsteps across the landing. A moment later Hermione's head appeared over the banister gazing down at him questioningly. Her eyes were a little bloodshot and it looked as though it had taken a lot of willpower to move so far.
"What is it?" Ron would have preferred her to snap at him than to sound so awfully strained.
"This is urgent. If you tell me now then I can go back and fix it," he said very quickly then took a deep breath to illuminate further. "Do you want Snape to know where you are?" and the moment of utter bewilderment cleared. Hermione's frown of confusion between the hanging curtains of hair, from bending over to look directly beneath her at Ron, turned into a bitter scowl.
She shook her head vehemently and Ron visibly relaxed. Hermione continued to scowl, first at the large stack of text books and parchments in his arms and then at his words.
"What do you mean 'you can go back and fix it'? Fix what...?" she said cautiously. Ron's hair was ruffled and windswept. He must have been out and the books in his arms were on her subjects. The torn look on his face expressed that he was clearly unsure of whether to tell her something.
Shifting the books in his grip he took a deep breath and Hermione (who was beyond the point of caring) prepared herself for yet more horrible news. Anything he told her would be overshadowed by her pathetic delusional story, the reason for her suffering.
"Snape found me... I-er..." he faltered at the expression on Hermione's face. She was staring at him like she dared not believe what she heard and her cheeks where paling to a ghostly white. She didn't speak so he continued. "H-he wanted me to tell you that he... er... that he needed to talk to you," he tried to wrack his brains and see what the exact message had been. "-and that it was an accident... or something like that... But I didn't give him the location!" he added hurriedly as Hermione paled drastically to the point of retching.
"W-where did this happen?" she stammered, forcing herself to ask the questions that needed answering. Ron looked up at her warily as though he weren't sure how much more information she could handle.
"At the University. I was collecting some more books for you. The extra ones, see..." he added, shifting the books again, "And he approached me... well, kind of cornered me... and demanded to know where you were-"
"And what did you say?" she said sharply, refusing to blink in case it were a dream. She was tottering on the edge of the landing banister, without much concern, to hear what Ron would tell her next.
"I told him to shove it someplace dark..." he gave her a cautious grin, thinking this piece of knowledge would cheer her up some.
Hermione pulled herself back from the banister, out of Ron's sight. If he could have seen her face if would have been that blank appearance of emotional torment as she struggled between the logical part of her telling her she should be proud of Ron for doing what a friend should and the other part of her aching uncontrollably as she imagined him coming after her, demanding to know where she was. She wanted to see him but knew she couldn't bear to.
In a moment her feelings twisted and changed. Her fingers on the railing curled tightly around the wood. Her blank face contorted into tense lines of rage. The evil prick wanted to find her and convince her to come back to him so he could keep using her! She hoped to the finest thread of flesh within her that he was suffering, suffering worse than she was. It would only be justice. She hoped Dumbledore had seen fit to fire him and hand him over to the ministry. Dumbledore may be forgiving but something like this can't be overlooked.
A soft mewing behind her brought her back to earth so fast that she felt she might collapse. Her knees went weak and she clutched the handrail tighter. Regaining her composure, she looked down at her feet. Crookshanks had wrapped himself around her ankles, tip of his tail flicking ominously as he stared up at her, head cocked to one side. He opened his mouth and mewed again.
It was the first time she had seen Crookshanks since they had arrived at... what was the address of this house? She had no idea. She had to catch up on a lot. His appearance threw all hatred from her mind abruptly.
She blinked down at her cat who stared up studiously. Without another thought she bent down and picked the fluffy orange bundle up by the middle and lifted him up to her chest. He purred and curled up in her arms, happy to see his mistress normal.
Hermione dug her fingers into his soft fur and buried her face against the back of his neck, closing her eyes.
There were a few silent moments as she heard Ron move away and with the books, obviously deciding to bring them to her some other time. His retreating footsteps faded and Hermione kept her face hidden in his tiger fur, rocking ever-so-slightly with the purring fuzz-ball resting his chin on her shoulder, eyes blissfully closed.
A few moments later she remembered where she was and blinked the glaze out of her brown eyes. She kept her face close to Crookshanks' ear and whispered "It's okay, Crookshanks... I won't go berserk on you..." The cat purred louder. She wasn't sure whether it was understanding her words or just hearing Hermione talk comfortingly to him.
She cuddled his warm body tightly to herself as she turned and headed back to her now bright bedroom, a dead look in her eyes.
Hope shining through a thick layer of cloud. Not much but some. Is Hermione learning to live without him? Getting used to a world without Severus. I know it's not what you want but that doesn't mean that's not what'll happen...
Sorry for lack of Severus. I know it's not going the way you would like but then if stories went the way we wanted them to then surely they would be much more boring with no disasters to keep us on our toes?
Oh the necessary stuff!! Why can't I just send Hermione running back to Severus, denouncing any feelings of resentment or fear? Believe me, if I did not have my own plan set out strictly, I would be tempted to stray from this path and give it that fairytale happiness. Instead I will have to keep it this way. (Have to? Surely she's doing this for her own pleasure? – true.)
I like the Crookshanks part, personally. He kind of prevents her going mentally haywire and on another ranting of hate thoughts. I wish I could give you more but it'll have to end there for now. Keep reviewing – as I said I would have left this story without your nice comments (I still feel embarrassed about the beginning). Give yourselves a great pat on the back. :)
I'm totally obsessing over Severus Snape I have not justified him in the slightest with this story. Don't u all wish/dream of him? ('Standing still before him, looking slightly lost and he takes a step closer, keeping his eyes on yours. He lifts your face up to his with a slender finger under your jaw and leans down to kiss you...' DROOL!) I would like to do that sometime – a plot-less scene of SS/you. Original? Desirable? Or just too peculiar for ?
Anyway, have a good read. (This story is my biggest and I'm so amazed I managed to write so much! Wonder how much more it will take to complete the plot... because although the plan has not changed in the slightest, I'm shifting events around and chapters aren't turning out as I expected – either too much or too little so (according to my plan) I should have to write three extra chapter 22's...)
Those of you who read and don't review: (brief, cold hug) those who read and review: (extra tight warm hug and a big kiss on both cheeks).
Mwuah! (blows kiss) Snakecharmer (I feel so immature when I do that.)