Ch 4

"So she sat on with closed eyes, and half believed herself in Wonderland, though she knew she had but to open them again, and all would change to dull reality."

-Lewis Carroll

It started slowly. At first it starts as a whisper and ends with a scream for help.

The war was growing steadily, the world had fallen into a consistent pattern. There were no new developments, only the constant fear and paranoia that there would be. But it still had an effect on people.

Severus wasn't an expert on all things involving Hermione Granger. But after working with her for several months he began to be accustomed to her behaviour. The way she often acted and how she thought. She was insightful but was able to put that all aside to focus on the task at hand. She wasn't necessarily clumsy or graceful but she never really made any unnecessary movement. There was a softness about her that turned into sharpness if the moment ever called for it.

But lately she seemed… off.

"Do you know what they say about you?"

"No." Though he could hazard a guess. People's insults always did seem to lack originality when they were directed to him.

"Do you want to know what they say?"

"Why should I? It's nothing I haven't heard before. What difference does it make whether I was a part of the Order or the Death Eaters? It was all the same to them. I was never capable of change or good for that matter in their eyes." He has long since been indifferent to their insults. At one point it did hurt. But he has bigger problems than people's personal opinions of him. Unless if it was the Dark Lord. The only other exception though was probably Dumbledore.

She was confused by his lack of anger. She held people's opinion of her in a higher regard than he did. "Doesn't that bother you?"

"You get used to it," he said indifferently and with a shrug.

She shook her head sadly, "It's not right."

"Sometimes it doesn't matter what is right. But simply the way things are." He looked at her with pity. Despite her maturity, she was still quite young when it came to the realities of life and it's inherent hardships. She was still an idealist in her views of the world. She wanted there to be good in the world. She wanted more and better than what currently was. It was an admirable goal. But not a realistic one. He gave up believing that the world could be good a long time ago. It was a shame that in the end he would have to be the one to crush her hopes. "If you don't accept them then you will lose what sanity you have and sometimes that is all you have left."

She started to contact him more. Asking him if he had any news. She didn't sigh in relief when he said no. Instead she looked lost. As if she didn't know what to do with herself. And when he did have news she would linger on each word or phase and kept pushing him to elaborate even when he had already done so. When she was writing and she waited for him to speak she would tap her quill impatiently. It was different from when she was simply stressed or aggravated. When that happened her nerves were fried and her temper was on a short leash. At least then she would become more standoffish even though her emotions were all over the place.

It was another two weeks when he began to see physical changes. He couldn't tell if she lost weight but her eyes were bloodshot and she used a concealment charm to hide the dark circles under her eyes. Even her hair seems limp; there was no more height to her curls. She was losing her shine. He couldn't recall the last time she smiled. The life was being sucked out of her.

Sometimes like today she would get quiet. She was distracted as if she was lost in a labyrinth in her own mind. Her calmness and collectivism was frailing. She was becoming more erratic each day. Her confidence was slowly fading and more often than not she retreated into herself instead of fighting back when he was snarky or rude. It was as if the more she didn't respond the less she would feel.

He thought about bringing up the subject matter. But he didn't know how to ask. It seemed pointless to ask her if she was okay when clearly she wasn't. And he wasn't exactly familiar with being kind. Or involving himself in other people's personal matters. And so he left her to his own devices. She was smart enough. She could self diagnose what was wrong with her. As if she was one of her arithmancy equations. She would notice her decline and make improvements accordingly. But he should have known that wouldn't have worked.

One night he was truly caught off guard by her.

She bit her lip as she hesitantly asked "Do you think I would be able to kill someone?"

His blood ran cold at that question. He slowly turned to look at her and tried not to let his expression show his shock. "Why on earth would you ask me that?" He had to stop himself from gulping. Just thought of her standing in a field with a body laying by her feet. Her standing there looking at her blood covered hands in fear, sent an unpleasent feeling sweeping over him.

"Because I have asked myself a hundred times and I still can't seem to come up with an answer." Unfortunately it was a rather common question when it came to fighting in a war. People are so willing to throw themselves into a fight. Believing so foolishly for what they are fighting for. They never consider what it truly means to fight. Until they are asked What are youy willing to sacrifice? Of course she would come to him. There were only a handful of people she knew who had killed someone. And only a few of them would be willing to discuss it. Most members of the Order would be ashamed of their acts and deny it. To others and to themselves. To try and forget. But he never did. Others would pacify her curiosity with reassurance. But he wasn't like that. And it wasn't the truth.

He sighed wearily. This was not a discussion he had a desire to have. However, he was in a malleable mood. It was probably best that she approached him now then when he was angry. "Do you want my honest opinion?" She was probably hoping for a simple yes or no answer. But she will be disappointed.

"I wouldn't have come to you if I didn't." She gave him a determined stare. Trying to either convince him or herself that she could handle the truth.

He thought for a moment as he tried to find the right way to articulate his thoughts. "I think everyone is capable of killing another person. They just need the right motivation to do so." He looked at her and saw the power in her eyes. She was a fighter. She would fight for her right to live against the Death Eaters and any person who would try to hurt her. She would also defend her friends and all those who she cares for, personal consequences be damned. "And you have several reasons to choose from."

Have you ever wanted to sleep and not wake up? To feel the darkness slowly consume you and send you to a peaceful rest. Severus knew this feeling quite well. For years he wished he could escape the sharpness of light. And that was the impression he got from her.

At first he thought it was just stress that was affecting her. She had to go back and forth from Hogwarts and the Order without anyone knowing what she was doing. He didn't like her friends. He quite frankly didn't understand their friendship. But he did understand keeping secrets from them was taking a toll on her. He would never suggest that she tell her friends though. There would be yelling, screaming, tears, and possibly blood loss. They would probably think she was manipulated or under the effects of the Imperious. They sure as hell would never be able to accept the truth. And even if they did, they wouldn't be able to keep it a secret. Potter's mind was still susceptible to the Dark Lord. It wasn't safe. She would just have to toughen up and get through it. If he couldn't confide in others then neither could she.

But that didn't appear to be the cause of her behaviour. Though one of the many factors.

A memory flashed inside his mind. He could vaguely recall the gossip in the staff room where it was discussed that her boggart was of Professor McGonnogol failing her. Failure. He should have recognised it sooner. Failure was a powerful trigger for emotions. It could be a powerful motivator but sometimes it could lead to obsessive behaviour. She had always been relentless in her need to be perfect. But the job she had to do with him, it couldn't be done flawlessly or perfectly. There was no perfect or one single solution to each problem they faced. And she was starting to realise it. But she didn't know how to process it.

If you bend something too much from its original shape, it tends to break. And sometimes it can't be put back together again.

Hermione Granger was a genuinely kind individual. A soft-hearted individual who wanted to believe and fight for the good in the world. She fought for everyone else's happiness, often ignoring her own. She was selfless in her pursuit for justice for others. Hell, this was the same girl who fought for house elf's freedom and created a stupid club to raise awarness over their enslavement.

She was a problem solver. Not an observer. She was never the type to stand on the sidelines and do nothing. And yet there she is. The world was slowly falling apart around her and here she was writing notes.

It was a sunny day today. Though often hidden behind the clouds. It was a rare sight from the reoccurring rain and darkness. But then the night came and the darkness shortly followed. There was a Death Eater raid in Diagon Alley. She thought they were scoping out the place to get access to Gringotts; she was wrong. Instead, she was focusing on the muggle-borns being rounded up in the Ministry. Fourteen people died.

He knew it was coming long before it happened. He saw the way her hand trembled as she held the quill. How she bit her lip to stop herself from making any noise.

She tried to make him feel better. Tried to placate him and make him believe that it wasn't his fault. Which it wasn't, but for some reason she felt the need to say it anyway. She kept going on and she began to ramble. First starting with how it wasn't his fault. It wasn't his responsibility to take action. Only to observe and report. And then she shifted gears to her job. "My job is to…" Her hand moved to cover her mouth as the realization came in. "My job isn't just listening to your reports. I am the one who decides what information gets passed along." When he heard about someone having a midlife crisis this is not what he imagined. It played out as if he was watching a movie. "Oh my god. What have I done? I could have passed along this information to the Order. Why didn't I? Why didn't I think it was important?" She looked at him searching for an answer. He watched her face shift as she realised she would have to find the answer within herself. "Why didn't I prioritise this?" She couldn't seem to comprehend how she had gotten to the point. How this outcome had come to be.

She started to go back through her notes. Throwing some of them on the floor without a care. She was rushed and frantic and mumbling to herself. This was the catalyst he was waiting for. The moment everything would go south. He knew that it would happen. It was inevitable and yet when she started to prove him wrong he hoped that maybe he was wrong about this too. The moment she started to doubt herself. He had much experience with this feeling. The guilt, the shame, the sadness. Dumbledore experienced it as well when he was in charge. He masked the pain behind his lemon drops but it was still there. He couldn't escape this. And now neither could she.

Her eyes were watering. She tried to hold them back as long as she could. Repressing the emotion as long as she could, but once the tears started, they streamed endlessly.

He wasn't very familiar with people crying or women blubbering on him. He had no idea what he was supposed to do. And he doubted that she would either once she recovered. And what was he supposed to do next? Ignore what had transpired. Offer her a future shoulder to cry on the next time the urge hits her. Chastise her for her inability to remain professional in his presence. If he didn't break down crying in front of her then the least she could do was have the decency to save it for her pillow. But any anger or resentment he had for her for placing him in this position quickly dissipated as he continued to watch her.

"I decided who to save and who we couldn't. I choose who gets to live or die. I killed them. I killed them. I'm playing god. I killed these people just like he did." He wasn't sure who she was referring to but he had two guesses. "I'm a killer," she whispered as she closed her eyes and began to cry more earnestly. He wished he could have said "You're wrong." But he couldn't, he remained silent.

She looked at him again with her lip wobbling. "Is that why you tried to push me away? Because you knew I couldn't handle this." No person could. "But you wanted to do this yourself. You chose to feel this pain so that no one else would have to." Her eyes widened and her hand moved to cover her mouth. "Oh god. "I am so sorry. You have been suffering for so long. And you have been so alone and I never realised and I'm the one who is supposed to know. It's my job to know." She hesitated for a moment before saying, "My job." Her voice cracked. And her cries began to become louder. His hands got clammy just from watching her. He could pulse quickening. The sound of her choking on her own breath made him uncomfortable. He could feel her despair vibrating throughout. He avoided emotions as if it was as simple as avoiding eye contact. But he couldn't turn away from this. A part of him did. Another part wanted to walk out the door and not look back. Life was unfair and filled with despair and hard choices. You needed to learn to get over it. That is what he told himself time and time again. And yet something kept him rooted in his spot. It stopped him from moving. From talking. From helping. He was paralyzed in his own body as the world and her drowned around him.

She was losing all control and was acting hysterical. Her sobs and words came out in shaky breaths. "I can't do this. I can't make the right choices. I don't know how to do this. I'm not strong enough. I can't simply forget and move on." She ran her hand through her hair as she continued to frantically move. But suddenly her hand stopped in her hair. Or it got caught. But he could see the moment of realisation on her face as an idea came to him. She turned back to look at him. "But you can. You can make me forget. You have wanted to obliviate my memory ever since Dumbledore assigned me to you. You can do this. You can make me forget. You are capable of doing this. You know what to do. I don't. So just make me forget all of it. Everything." She begged him to help her. To set her free. He almost regretted putting the thought of obliviating her into her head. It has now come full circle to bite him in the ass. Because he couldn't go through with it. He couldn't even say why he couldn't. The words "I was wrong, I need you," were left unspoken.

He continued to look at her with an impassive expression. Before realisation hit her that he wasn't going to do anything. "No. No!. You don't need me, you never needed anyone. Just make this go away. Make me forget. I give you permission. Okay. I don't want to feel like this." She looked at him with tears streaking down her blotched cheeks. Her eyes proceeded to clench close and she tried to make it all stop. Her head started to shake back and forth. "Take it away. Take it all. Please". Her hand was clenching her stomach as she looked at him one last time as her legs gave out on her and she collapsed on the ground. Continuing to sob. "No. No."

Watching her crumble was heart wrenching. He has seen people cry and get mad and scream in pain but this got to him in a way he never could have anticipated. Sometimes he hated being right. He knew it was coming. He had seen people with more life experience fall apart from this type of stress before. It was a miracle she held out as long as she did. But still. There is no greater terror than watching someone so strong feel so weak. Crumble before your eyes when there is no way to help them. There is no greater feeling of helplessness.

There was no way for him to calm her. She was too far gone. The only way was to get through it. It wasn't the best option but as she so recently learned it is the better of two. She tried to hold her breath to try and calm herself. But she couldn't do it. Not all by herself. She was falling further and further into the darkness.

Most people would quit and walk away after such a realization. But she wouldn't be able to. No matter how much this hurt, no matter how much she would wish to end things. She won't be able to stop. She would never be so selfish as to walk away. Someone has to do this job and no one else would want to if they knew the truth. She will make it to tomorrow. She was strong enough for that but slowly she will destroy herself. The longer the war goes on the more damage she will cause. Guilt was a crippling emotion. The despair will be too much and she won't ever be able to escape it. Even when Voldemort is dead and the war is over. She will always be left wondering What if?

He didn't hug her, nor did he even attempt to wrap his hand around her wrists in an attempt to restrain her. He never understood how physical contact could provide comfort to someone. Any time he experienced physical touching it resulted in pain. He had a feeling that this was something she needed to experience on her own. But it didn't matter. There was no comfort that he could provide her.

He knew this feeling all too well. It was how he felt after he killed Dumbledore. He had to walk alongside the other Death Eaters away from Hogwarts and kneel in front of the Dark Lord proclaiming out loud that he killed Albus Dumbledore. As the Dark Lord gleaned and the Death Eaters cheered around him he had to remain emotionless besides giving an occasional smirk to relish in his accomplishments. But once he was alone in a warded room he allowed his occlumency shields to fall. He ended up tossing the room and broke his hand after he punched the wall. Then ended up on the floor with his head buried in his arms as if he could shield himself from the world. No one was there after the fact. No one had comforted and told him it was okay. No one reassured him. The closest he got was "Everything is going according to plan" from Dumbledore's portrait. At that moment he let himself feel sorry for himself. He was selfish and let all of his emotions come out.

And that was what she was doing. And like him in the morning she would pull herself together and keep fighting. Because that is all they have left. In the end, it didn't matter. No matter what she did, they were still going to die. One way or another. She had deluded herself into thinking she could choose. But that choice was taken away from her a long time ago. She thought she had a chance to succeed. But in war, there was no success. And now she had to count her losses. And make peace with the past or she would never be able to move on. Otherwise, she should give up right now. This job was not for the weak-minded. She held out admirably until now. The truest test would be if she could pull herself together again. That is when she will have to prove her strength.

She ended up falling asleep on the ground propped up against the stand of the desk.

He decided the least he could do was not leave her passed out on the floor. He pulled out his wand and muttered Wingardium Leviosa. His wand moved in a swish and flick movement before she began to lift off of the ground. Most people would have just carried her. She was small enough, he could have managed, but instead, he used magic.

He led her out of the lab and into his bedroom. He guided her in the air before setting her on the bed. There was a soft glow illuminating from the fireplace. The walls were covered in dark green and silver wallpaper. The silver twisted and turned like branches against the green backdrop. The room was sparse. There were no ordaining decorations. No needless nicknacks or sentimental objects. Not even a bookshelf. There was a dresser and a side table next to the bed. The bed itself was large and had black sheets.

She ended up on her back with her knees bent to the side. Her head was turned, leaving her brown curls spread amongst the black pillows. One arm was raised by her head, the other across her stomach. She was breathing quietly. She was so still that if it wasn't for the soft rise and fall of her chest, he would have thought she was dead. Her hair and skin danced with amber shadows from the fire. It was strange she almost looked peaceful while she slept. The only indication that she was ever in distress was the stray tears left on her cheek.

He honestly didn't care that she was in his bed. It probably should have made him uncomfortable, she was once his student and now he was witnessing her in such a vulnerable state. At least she was making use out of its purpose. He rarely used it. Most nights he barely slept. He would toss and turn or stare up at the ceiling for an hour before hauling himself out of bed and doing something productive.

He moved his arm and used the back of his fingers to swipe away a loose tear staining her cheek. His hand lingered for a moment. He could feel the smoothness of her skin and the tickle of one of her curls. He hastily pulled his hand away as if it burned him. He didn't know why he did that. It was as if he was lost in a trance and just relied on instinct. Severus was stiff, his shoulder blades were pinched together. His hand hung by his side but they felt clammy and he had the urge to rub them.

He gave her one more look before he quickly strode out of the room.

"How is she?" Dumbledore asked. His white beard pronounced against his purple robes. Of course, he knew. Despite there being no portraits in his lab and silencing charms. The man still somehow knew just from his entrance what had happened. Like all things in life apparently. There was no getting past him.

"How do you think?" Severus replied with a glare. He moved towards his desk, originally aiming for some alcohol, before thinking better and moved in front of the portrait. "She should never have had to go through this."

"She agreed."

Though Severus knew that she was stubborn and once her mind was set there was no stopping her. This was different. "She had no clue what she was signing up for. I should have fought harder. Pushed her away. Made sure she was far away from this. From me." He paced back and forth before the portrait. Glad that it was so late and no students or staff would interrupt. They, unlike him, would have been asleep for hours. And the Dark Lord was out of the country, so there was no chance of a summoning. He now had time to speak his mind and process these events. "I told you that I would destroy her. I warned you but you didn't listen. And now she is falling apart."

"She will pick herself up." Of course, he would say that. He was annoyingly optimistic but somehow right now it was worse.

"And if not?" He asked with an arched brow. He sighed and rubbed in between his eyes. He knew this would happen. "I am the one who bloody did this to her."

"No, you didn't. The war did. She is a muggle-born, the brightest witch of her age, a female, and Harry Potter's best friend. She was already involved." And though Dumbledore did have a point about her having a target painted on her back. He wasn't referring to her risk of being killed.

"Yes, physical danger but not emotional and mental." He was there when she was in the infirmary after she was hit with Dolohov's curse. She was in physical pain from the dark magic, but the only tears that came from her were involuntary ones. It wasn't as if she was actually crying. It was different. Then what had just transpired. He had no problem healing someone while they were in agonising pain but watching her cry made him uncomfortable and queasy. He had never seen her act like this. Not even when she was frantic with stress for her OWLs did she act so out of control. "Not like this."

Dumbledore gave him a pensive look from behind his glasses. "You care for her."

"Of course, I care. I ... she is important to the cause." Severus corrected when he realised his error. Her emotions have caused him to act and say things in a manner that he was unfamiliar with. He did not mean what he was about to say. It was the heat of the moment. After being exposed to her emotional outburst he was feeling the residual energy of her emotions. That was all.

Right before his portrait fell asleep, Dumbledore said "And to you."

I would like to thank my beta reader demonbarber14.

I will post the next chapter next Friday

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