Ch 17 PTSD


Severus' POV

Severus has long since become accustomed to Hemione Granger's presence in his private quarters. It was a frequent weekly occurrence as of late. And even he has been less nervous about the implications. But right now, he was concerned about why she had dashed off into his bathroom.

They were both seated on the couch when all of a sudden she bolted without a single word. He didn't move from his seat on the couch. Instead, he stared at the door to the bathroom. She did manage in her hurry to close the door behind her. And he was reluctant to knock and ask her if she was okay. It was entirely possible that she needed to use the restroom to take care of a female-related issue. But he doubted she would have made such a scene if that were the case. It also sounded as if the shower was running. The sound of water was too loud to be coming from the faucet.

He tried to recall her behavior before she ran out on him. They were discussing the recent upscale in Death Eater attacks in muggle London. They were theorizing why it was occurring despite no significant advancement in their movement. For the most part, he was talking while she listened. Normally it was the other way around. But occasionally he would take the lead during conversation. She was staring off into space and seemed lost in her thoughts. She also seemed to have been trying to hold her breath. It's possible that she was experiencing some kind of duress.

The sound of the door unlocking pulled him from his thoughts. She came out soaking wet despite being fully clothed.

She looked extremely embarrassed after realizing what a scene she just caused and sheepishly said, "Sorry."

"Are you going to explain why you felt the need to drown yourself and then proceed to water my floors?" He couldn't help but arch a brow at her curiously.

"Umm. Would you believe me if I told you I really needed to wash my hair?"

He stared at her blankly and it was clear that the answer was no.

She sighed and attempted to run a hand through her wet hair. "Do you ever just get stuck inside your head? And you need a quick way to escape instead of just riding your thoughts out." She seemed to be struggling to articulate her thoughts. She was shifting from one foot to the other.

Yes. He knew exactly what she was talking about. But it still wasn't adding up to why she took a shower with her clothes on and in his room for that matter. "Care to elaborate."

She ran a hand through her hair though it got caught in the wet mass. "It's like when you are dreaming or having a nightmare but you can't wake up. Because it's not a dream. It's a memory."

"You are experiencing flashbacks." PTSD. That was what the muggles called it. Post-traumatic stress disorder.

"Yes. They don't happen often and what triggers them is always different. But yes. I start to remember what happened at Malfoy Manor. And then I can't seem to escape." He understood. He had personal experience in that matter. But he wasn't seeing the connection.

"And why does that require a water element?"

Her eyes seemed to glaze over as her eyes trailed off to the side. "When I was on the floor at the Manor. I remember the burning sensation. The burning of the crutiutus. The burning of her knife. And how warm my blood felt on my skin. And how much a relief it was when I escaped and I was surrounded by the cold." He never considered how much of a relief it was for her to be able to escape out of the Manor. He just focused on how hard she was trying to escape. He didn't think about how she used that milestone to keep pushing herself forward. "Even though I was tired, the snow seeping into my clothes seemed to jolt me awake."

"Throwing myself into a freezing shower seems to help." He understood that. She found a way to ground herself and bring herself back to reality.

"And you didn't think that it was okay to simply ride out the experience. You are in my office. None of the other students would have seen you." That didn't come out exactly as he wanted it to. He wanted to tell her that she was safe here. With him. But that's not what he ended up saying. He made it seem like she had to hide what she went through, when she didn't. But she seemed to understand nonetheless.

She gave him a small smile. Almost apologetic. "I don't exactly know how I react when I am stuck in one. I have no clue if I would just collapse on the floor. Or if I start shaking and my eyes roll back. If you saw me in distress you might have tried to snap me out of it and I didn't want to hurt you."

She turned back to the bathroom and was beginning to realize just how private and personal this was getting while standing in his private quarters. She seemed uneasy. And he realized that this may be awkward for her. "Again. I am sorry. I should probably go." She hastily grabbed her stuff. Only stopping to cast a drying charm on herself. He didn't have time to stop her. Or to even tell her that it was alright. That he understood. Before she was out the door.

Was it simply a matter of circumstance as to why she told him about it. Or was it perhaps she knew subconsciously that he would understand. Severus found himself pondering this question.

She didn't plan to be in a vulnerable state with him nor did he ask. But she chose to reveal the truth about what was going on with her. And he wished that he had reciprocated. She wasn't the only one struggling with life. And he regretted how by not saying anything he may have given her the impression that she was alone. When she wasn't. He was right there with her. He too found himself struggling with solace. He had been fortunate that in recent months her mere presence was sometimes able to provide.

Sometimes human connection was invaluable. He thought for years that he was doing just fine without it. He had his own methods of coping. But occulemency can only help so much when your own mind turns against you.

He knew from previous experiences. Including this moment. He found his mind quite crowded after returning from a meeting with Dumbeldore. He was quite possibly in shock from what had transpired between them. His thoughts were all tangled with one another. And it was hard to simply choose one to focus on.

So instead he chose to ignore his own problems and instead focus on something else. Or rather someone else. If he couldn't solve his own dilemma then perhaps he could find a way to help her heal from hers.

But he couldn't exactly walk up to her and ask her how she is coping with her PTSD. She was rationalizing too much and was slightly biased toward her own wellbeing. And he was too invested to see clearly. Also biased from his own experience and mishandling of his trauma. No, what he needed was a third perspective. Someone else who could shed light on her well-being.

And that was how he found himself at Grimmauld Place.

After the rush of the fire in the floo died down he was left in the dark kitchen. None of the lights were on. He shouldn't have been surprised it was rather late. But the sound of the floo was loud and it wasn't long for the Black to come into the kitchen with a wand in hand pointed at him and emitting light.

"Dude. It's one in the morning," Black complained, once noticing it was him.

And it was then Severus too took notice of him. Particularly what he was wearing. Or better yet, what he wasn't wearing. He was dressed in only a pair of pink underwear. "Where are your clothes?"

He didn't seem to care about his lack of undress. He threw himself into one of the chairs and burrowed his head into his hands. "Don't you sleep? Cause I like to sleep. Especially in a warm and cozy bed. Don't you like your bed? Do you even have a bed?" Black looked up and eyed him curiously.

"How has Miss Granger seemed to you? In your correspondence." He asked, getting straight to the point. There was no point in trying to gain information out of him without him knowing. There were only so many reasons as to why he would be here.

"Fine, why?" Black quickly became wide awake. He sat up straight and looked ready to fight someone if the need called for it. "Has she been acting peculiar lately?"

Severus could at least appreciate Black's willingness to help others. It was his only redeeming quality. And though he usually liked ruffling him up. He had no intention of doing that with Miss Granger's well-being. Especially since she was not in any immediate harm like before. For all pretense and purposes, she was just fine. "No. She is just as stubborn and determined as ever." Black visibly sighed in relief. "I meant her habits."

"Not that I know of. She still brushes and flosses her teeth twice a day. Reads a book before bed. Likes to do her homework in the morning when she doesn't have school." If he seemed confused by his sudden interest, he didn't show it. He was abruptly awoken from his sleep. So he was starting to doze off again. Though he did eye him after a moment, giving him a knowing look that Severus didn't appreciate. "She seems to be coping well."

Severus arched his brow. "What makes you say that?"

"She has taken more of an interest in self-care. I think she has been taking more baths. Sleeping more." Hmm, interesting. So she was trying to take care of herself for the most part. To Black, none of that would seem strange or unusual. But after his recent discovery, he had a feeling that despite how much she tried to move on and be physically healthy. Mentally she was struggling.

He found himself at a loss for words. He thought that she was doing all right. That she mostly recovered. That she was not struggling. But it wasn't until faced with evidence of the contrary did he even recognize the pain in her eyes.

"You have to tell her. It wouldn't be right not to."

Severus found himself stiffening at his words. "Tell her what?"

"Funny that you said what instead of who." Severus had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he narrowed his eyes. "There is only one her you could be referring to." They were only talking about one person. And right now he was not in the mood to deal with Black's ramblings. Especially when they made too much sense to him. "We aren't friends. She is my student."

"Are you 100% positive?" Oh, he knew that he wasn't sure about anything when it came to Hermione Granger especially when it involved his own feelings. He was already struggling to make sense of them. He didn't need Black to tell him that he wasn't making much progress. "You care about her well-being. There is no shame in admitting it." That's easier said than done. And for him, he had a long history of believing that emotions were a weakness.

"Besides, she has this way of getting underneath your skin and inside your head." Black didn't have to tell him that.

He couldn't deny that he cared about her. He figured it out after she was rescued from the Death Eaters. He knew he cared because of how scared he was. He hadn't experienced true fear in a very long time. But she invoked that emotion in him with her disappearance. His mouth went dry. He could feel himself start to get overwhelmingly hot. He had to stop himself from trembling at the mere thought of what could have happened to her.

It's not a shame to admit that another human being could provide him comfort. Black didn't count since even though they called a truce he still aggravated him and annoyed him to no end. And Dumbledore was always forced out of obligation to care for him. To ensure that his spy remained loyal. Madam Pomphrey was a healer. Despite the fact that they could be friends. The possibility always gave way to her duty of having to care.

He couldn't deny that despite the circumstance it was nice to engage in a conversation with someone who values intelligence just as much as he did. Black wasn't wrong about her getting underneath his skin. But not for the reasons he thought. It got under his skin how easy it was for him to talk to her. How willing he was to reveal things about himself to her. He has never felt the need to reciprocate when someone shares things about themselves with him.

But with her. They just simply slip out. He did care about her well-being. Him finding her at Malfoy Manor proved it. At the time he choked it up to her being his student. But since when did he ever care about the little menaces. He told himself at the time that their secret mission was in jeopardy. And in a way, the information she possessed was threatened. He could have informed the Order. Or at least sent Black after her instead. At the time, in his mind, time was of the essence. The longer she was captured the more likely she would be injured or killed.

He underestimated her ability. He forgot that she was fully capable of taking care of herself. Their private lessons already confirmed it. So why did he feel the compulsive need to find her? To help her. To protect her. And in such urgency. He simply did not know. And it confounded him on such a level. That he could not decipher why at that moment it meant so much to him. Or why even know he cared so much about her mental health.

He didn't understand why she mattered so much but he understood her and she understood him and that was all he needed to know.

He realized quite early on just the extent Hermione Granger's presence had on him. He knew she physically impacted him. His careless, thoughtless and immediate need to react when she was captured before the holidays was indicative of that. But then he noticed the emotional and mental side of things.

How quickly he gave her his loyalty. How he was willing to reveal his secrets and desires that no one other than him knew. How he trusted her. The simplicity of simply being in her presence. How before this year none of these things existed between him and her or anyone for that matter.

His desire to talk to her and see her. Even if it meant spending time with Black to do so. That was a strong indication.

But in the course of several months, everything changed for him. It terrified him at first. How much of himself he had started to give her. It was also beautiful. He didn't know if after all of these hard years he was still capable of…simply feeling anything other than anger and pain. This was the complete opposite. And it scared the hell out of him. Mostly because he never dared to dream of feeling even for a moment as if he was whole again. And not just the shadow of a man this war has left behind. But there was only one other thing that terrified him.

When she went missing.

There wasn't much of himself he could give her. The only thing he could do was listen to her. When she had no one else to go to he could provide comfort. In fact, she sought him out for it. Perhaps she noticed how in her time of need she gravitated to him. Perhaps not. But it didn't matter, she was here now.

When he returned back to his quarters. She was laid out on the dining room table. Her curls spread like a brown halo around her. She wasn't in her uniform which was a relief. Instead, she wore a pair of dark distressed jeans and a grey long sleeve shirt. From this angle, he could see the peaks of black lace from the curve of the neckline. He told himself it was simply an undershirt instead of anything more intimate.

It was not the first time she accustomed to this position. Sometimes when she was trying to solve an advanced problem she would lay down and think instead of staring at her notes. But usually, it was only in the presence of Black never just him.

"Why am I not surprised to find you here?"

She wasn't startled by his voice nor did she make any attempt to get up and leave. "Sorry I can go."

"No, it's fine." He made his way over to the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Whiskey. He normally didn't drink while he was at Hogwarts unless it was the holidays. He knew that if he did start drinking during the week he would not want to stop. Alcohol was too much of a dependent and in his case too much of a temptation. An easy escape from his life. But right now he needed to cloud his mind for a moment and after the day she had so did she. "Do you want a drink?"

"Is that even allowed?" She asked moving to prop herself up on her elbows. She watched as he grabbed two glasses instead of one.

He started to pour a hefty amount into each glass. "Probably not. But since when have I ever cared so much about following propper teaching conduct." It was true that by giving her alcohol he could be fired if ever caught but it didn't matter now.

"Then ya I'll have one." She sat up more to take one of the glasses. She didn't move off of the table even though he pulled out one of the chairs beside her to sit down. He took a healthy sip of his own before turning his gaze towards her. He wasn't sure if she ever had alcohol before. Of course, she would have had butterbeer but this was a hell of a lot stronger. And surely Black would still have a stash at Grimmauld. He would have turned a blind eye to her drinking. She didn't hesitate nor choke on her drink.

"What's the occasion?" She asked after a few sips. He wasn't sure if she was afraid that something awful had happened in the last couple of hours since they had seen one another or just looking for anything to talk about other than why she was here.

"I may have just been fired."

"What? Why? What did you do?" He couldn't help but smile at her indignation.

"Nothing and that is the point. I refused to do something Dumbledore asked of me." She tilted her head in curiosity, despite how he didn't reveal their secret project to him she knew how loyal he was to Dumbledore. She couldn't seem to fathom what it was that he possibly refused to do.

"He asked me to kill him." She looked at him so startled and confused. He couldn't blame her. It was quite an outrageous tale. And that was why he was drinking; he was outraged by the earlier request. It was not the first time the Headmaster called him into his office to do something impossible. Every time he did it. Reluctantly. But this time he just couldn't. And now he was tired. Perhaps he had grown too weak to continue on. Though he knew this situation was much more complex. Under any other circumstances, he would have probably agreed eventually. But things had changed for him in the past six months. He had to say no.

One of the reasons currently being in front of him. He looked down at his glass swirling the amber contents. "He isn't well. And he believes me killing him would spare him from any pain further aging will cause him while at the same time reinforcing my position as a spy."

After his explanation, understanding washed over her face. And that was a clear indication of how she viewed him. Anyone else wouldn't be surprised if he did follow through with his order. The only thing was they wouldn't know it was an order. "I refused. And so he said that after this school year I am not welcome back in Hogwarts."

She tilted her head as she took in his expression and behavior. Despite how he normally observed others around him with a scrutinizing glare. He hated when people watched him. But he didn't mind her watching him in curiosity rather than judgement. "So are you drinking over the fact that you probably won't have employment after this school year or are you celebrating that you just got fired?"

"Both." He raised his glass in a mocking toast. Before drinking the rest of the glass. He was thankful that he brought the bottle over with him. He didn't want to have to get up for another one. "And why are you so miserable?" He didn't ask her if she wanted more. He knew that he had a higher alcohol tolerance than her. And despite the amount she had, she was most likely already feeling the effects of it.

"I am not miserable, just reflective." She put her half drank glass down on the table and laid back down. He didn't pry or encourage her to speak. He waited until she was ready. And even if she spent hours lying on his table not even saying a word before leaving. He would still wait. He wouldn't push her. But he didn't need to. She didn't seem to have a problem talking to him. She never did.

"I don't know how to tell them. Harry and Ron. They know that I am keeping secrets from them. But I don't know how to tell them. Or even explain why I didn't tell them."

"Why didn't you bring them in on this?" It was one thing that always bothered him. He could never figure out her reasoning.

"I don't know, maybe because research isn't exactly their forte. Or I wanted them to have moments of peace instead of being consumed by this war. All of the above. Or maybe those are just the lies I am telling myself." She turned her head to face him.

She wasn't looking for an answer from him. But it did seem like she was willing to engage in conversation and not simply vocalize her thoughts. Perhaps she was hoping to answer her own questions. "And Bellatrix?"

She huffed at the name. He was pleased to note there was no fear at the mention of the witch. "I have no idea how I will even tell them about that."

"Haven't they noticed you constantly wearing long sleeves?" He gestured to her current choice of clothes.

"No, it's still early spring." She sighed heavily. "Glamour charms don't work on it," she admitted. "I am not ashamed of the scar. I survived a horrible ordeal. And I love my parents. They are good people so why should I be ashamed." She had no reason to be ashamed and she wasn't. He knew that wasn't what was holding her back,

"And yet you are scared. Scared that if others find out what happened they will treat you like you are fragile glass about to break and then you will break." He figured that was why she didn't want the Order to know after her escape.

She toyed with the edges of the sleeves. "I know I haven't properly dealt with the trauma. I have been compartmentalizing. But I need to keep moving. If I stop to think for just one moment, I don't think I will ever want to keep moving."

"You don't have to hide that here."

She looked down at her covered arm then down at his on the table. "Neither do you."

He looked at her curiously feeling the effects of the alcohol take root. A feeling of warmth started to overtake him. "Have you ever seen it before?" He wasn't referring to just his. He knows the very few individuals who have seen it. He meant the mark in general. Not even the Death Eaters she had come in contact with would have shown them off so freely. Though there were a few who showed it off proudly.

She shook her head.

He put down his own glass and rolled up his sleeve while she sat up.

He didn't bother to look down. He already knows what it looks like. But she on the other hand shifted over on the table so that her legs were now hanging off the edge beside him. She didn't say anything about the redness on his skin surrounding the black ink. The abnormal way the snake moved against his pale skin. Or how this mark was a symbol of hate against muggleborns. She didn't reel back in disgust. She remained impassive as she followed the curves with her eyes.

"How old were you?" she asked softly. She drew her eyes away from his arm and met his.

"17." He kept his eyes on hers. He was too captivated by the brown and golden shades of her eyes to think about one of his worst memories.

"Did it hurt?"

If anyone else would have to ask he would never have said anything. But for reasons that had more to do with her than the alcohol he was willing to speak. "The process took 2 hours and after the first hour I blacked out. The process is more akin to branding than to a tattoo."

She bit her lip. "Does it still hurt?

"Only when he summons us through it. Or whenever someone says his name in my presence. It burns." He never told anyone before, Not even Dumbledore has asked if it still physically pains him.

He didn't even notice that her fingertips were trailing along his mark. She didn't touch the mark itself, only tracing the outline of the surrounding inflamed skin. He guessed the alcohol was hitting her more strongly than he thought if she was taking such liberties with physically touching him. But then again he was letting her. Maybe because the act of a muggleborn touching such a mark and freely too provided him with more than just comfort. It provided him reassurance. "But touching it right now is fine."

"Yes," he said, huskily. He wasn't as surprised as he should have been about how okay it truly was.

She removed her hand. when she seemed to realize how close to him she was. But besides moving her arm she didn't lean away from him. He stiffened at the loss of contact.

He leaned back further in his chair. He watched as she grabbed her glass and took another sip. His eyes trailed along her neck as she tilted back her head. Once she put her drink down she placed her hands on her lap and looked down. "Once all of this is over do you plan to remove it?" She looked down at her hands avoiding looking at him.

He sighed at the question. He should have expected it. He had been asking himself the same thing for years. "I had thought about it. Before. After I first became a death eater. It was no secret that blood purity was not important to me. Though I did express an interest that muggleborns should not be raised by muggles. I wanted to create and develop potions and sought power through knowledge, The Dark Lord understood that and drew me in with promises. I was mostly kept out of the Death Eater business. It was a different time. The talk of missing people and death were still mostly rumours at that point. And the Dark Lord was seen as a revolutionary rather than a tyrant." He was young and naïve. He wanted to be a part of something and feel important. His actions were justifiable but it didn't excuse them. He didn't excuse them. "But one day when I presented him my newest creation, an advanced healing potion. He wanted a demonstration. He used it as a form of torture. She was only six years old." He still remembered her face. She had these big blue eyes, and an array of freckles and blonde pigtails. She was the first face to haunt his dreams. But she wasn't the last. He never could find out her name. The Dark Lord never did ask it when he tortured her. "After that night I tried to find a way to remove it. If only so I could escape. After four months I couldn't find anything that could help. Nothing could save me. So instead I went to Dumbledore and became a spy. There was never an option for me to escape." And now he was here. Sitting with the only person that made him wish he could still escape.

"But now you might have a shot. When he is dead for real this time. It's possible that it will fade away."

\

If only that was a simple solution. "It is. But is that right? For a mark that symbolizes all of their misdeeds to simply fade away."

She met his eyes once again. He wasn't searching for her but he wasn't avoiding them either. "It would beat the alternative of flaying your arm or cutting it off." That was the least he deserved for all of his sins. And even then it wouldn't ease his conscience.

"But then was any of it ever real?"

She pondered the question for a bit. Searching his eyes for her own answer. But at last, she found what she was looking for. "At least you would have a second chance." He had to resist the urge to laugh of course she would find the bright side in all of this.

"I don't know if I believe in that."

"Well, I do," she said strongly and a little stubbornly.

It was a nice thought. It truly was. And he was flattered that she thought so highly of him. But he knew that he didn't deserve a clean slate. "I don't think that is a possibility for me.

She bit her lip. He never realized how frequently she did that. Or how often his eyes kept being drawn to her lips this last hour. Her voice wavered as she asked "If you can't do it? Then how am I supposed to?" Her eyes began to water as emotion began to overtake her. She held it in though. Refusing to let a single tear fall.

There wasn't a single doubt in his mind that his next words weren't true. "You are a lot stronger than I."

He felt that way about her for a while now. He often found himself marveled by her strength and courage. And that admiration he felt for her sparked a new set of feelings for him.

None of this was planned. It simply happened. It developed and evolved and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. When they began their partnership he wasn't looking for more than simple cooperation. It quickly developed into an odd friendship and now whatever his relationship with Hermione Granger was. There was no warning that she would one day mean something to him. If he did he would have probably tried to sabotage this development. But he had no choice but to ride out the consequences of this.