AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, more garbage for you. I've decided that along with my goal to write consistently regardless of how I feel about the writing, my updates have to be between 2,000 and 4,000 words. Chapter One was just over 4,000 and this is just over 2,000. So...much shorter. But, hey! Practice makes progress.
Here's a game for you: How many times did I write "the girl" in this chapter? My friends, it gets a little ridiculous. I suppose any of you who stick with this will just get to watch this writing journey and cringe with me!
*GENERAL DISCLAIMER AND ALL THAT SUCH AND SUCH*
CHAPTER TWO
She leaned against the castle wall as she stumbled back to the Hospital Wing. Thank Merlin the students were all in class. She couldn't bear it if they saw her like this.
She whispered little reassurances to the stones as they sent a worried hum against her shoulder. "I'm fine," she breathed, "As long as you don't go anywhere. I'm just having trouble standing is all."
Her legs nearly gave out when she finally arrived. The Quidditch players had all been released so the wing was blessedly quiet, save for a seventh year Ravenclaw girl who'd come in for a discreet Sober-Up potion. Hermione recognized her from her own time as a student…and from the hours spent healing the injured in the Great Hall after the battle. I don't remember her name, Hermione thought to herself, but I remember the blood in her braids that night.
The girl hurried over to her, "Hermione! Are you alright?"
She felt the girl grab her arm and try to keep her upright. "Yes, I'm fine! Please, please don't worry about me."
"Madam Pomfrey! I think she's going to faint!"
Everything felt like water for a moment. Like drowning. Her head was heavy and the blood roared behind her ears like an angry ocean. Hermione watched the ceiling swirl above her for a moment before the darkness closed in.
The sea air was cold against her skin, pricking at her cheeks and making her nose drip. She wiped at her face with her sleeve. Fleur and Luna watched her from their blanket on the sand a few feet away.
"Are you sure you don't want a warming charm, Hermione?" Luna called to her softly.
"Better yet," Fleur said, "Come to ze blanket with us, 'Ermione! I can braid your 'air back for you - ze wind is so strong today!"
Hermione hugged her knees tighter against her chest and watched the waves crash in the distance. Everything hurt. Every scar itched, every muscle ached, her head felt fuzzy and her magic kept reaching out for…something. Draining her each time it settled back into the pit of her stomach.
"You are missing your wand, Miss Granger."
Ollivander slowly lowered himself to sit beside her on the sand, his joints popping as he stretched out his legs. "A wand, of course, is not necessary. But we have taught our children to rely on them rather heavily. A poor decision on our part, I think."
Hermione turned her head to look at the old man. He sighed, "I have dedicated my entire life, Miss Granger, to the art of wand making. But to create a tool that will harness and direct magic, we must first understand magic simply as it is. No special wood, or rare core, or intricate carving. You are your magic, Miss Granger. You do not need a wand. You are your wand. Your flesh, your blood, your bone? That is your 10 3/4 inch vine wood. Your magic? That is your dragon heartstring core. Your magic is your core. Your body, and your will, is how you…push or pull…that magic."
She listened intently. She knew wandless magic was possible, of course, but she'd never heard someone really explain it. Why is he telling me all this?
"You hesitate to use Madam Lestrange's wand. I understand. But remember that the wand is not what makes the magic. It is only a tool, Miss Granger."
Hermione shook her head, "But Mr. Ollivander, I don't know how to perform wandless magic. As you said, it's not taught at Hogwarts. And I can't use that witch's wand. I can't touch it. I can't — I can't even look at it. Not after…"
He squeezed her shoulder, "I will make you a new wand when this is all over, my dear. For now, detach yourself from the tool. You are right. You do not know how to cast without a wand. So learn! Practice! No doubt you will soon need more power than any wand at your current disposal can handle. Lestrange's wand? Just a stick. Just a tool. And using that tool to help the light win? What better way to stick it to her, hmm?"
Hermione let out a shaky laugh.
"Now, help an old man up!" Ollivander reached out his hands, "Let's go inside and make some tea."
"Here you go, Hermione, dear," Poppy stirred a drop of Calming Draught into the tea before handing it over.
Hermione traced the teacup handle with her index finger, letting the smooth porcelain ground her. The steam billowed softly against her cheeks as she raised the cup to her lips and inhaled the sweet smell of chamomile.
She'd come to only seconds later with her head on the Ravenclaw girl's lap. Poppy had her wand pointed between Hermione's eyes and she'd scrambled backward in panic, the top of her head smacking against the poor Ravenclaw's chin. The Hogwarts Matron had quickly ushered the both of them into her office.
She sipped at her tea slowly, closing her eyes in embarrassment.
The other girl laughed at Hermione's guilty expression, "Stop fretting, Hermione! It's just a bump on the chin."
Hermione looked up and groaned when the girl grinned at her. Her jaw was coated in green bruise paste.
"That's Apprentice Granger to you, Miss Gaines," Poppy tutted as she applied another coat of the bruise paste to the girl's chin, "Tilt your head for me, darling. There you go."
Gaines, Gaines. I can't remember her first name.
The girl held Hermione's eyes for a moment before looking away. "I never got to thank you," she said, "You know…that day. I can't say I regret sneaking back in with the others, but I definitely could've done without the pain. Stupid, isn't it? Running into battle thinking I'd leave without a scratch."
Hermione snorted, "Are you sure you're a Ravenclaw?"
The girl smirked, "I've spent a lot of time in the lion's den, that's all."
"Alright, back to class now! Off you go, Miss Gaines!" Poppy shooed the girl out of her office, "Wipe off the bruise paste in about twenty minutes. You may still be a little tender but there shouldn't be any discoloration! I'm sure Apprentice Granger will stop by your common room soon and you can chat the day away then. But we're very busy around here! Go on!"
"Check the tower if I'm not with my own house, alright, Herm — Apprentice Granger?" The girl peeked over Madam Pomfrey's shoulder when the matron blocked the office doorway, "You Gryffindors are too much fun, really I just can't stay away!"
Poppy must've given her a look because the girl winced and ran out of the Hospital Wing, her footsteps echoing behind her.
The older woman spun toward Hermione, "What was that? No, no, I know what it was! How long has it been happening? Why have you been hiding — my Gods, you hide it as well as him!"
"What's that girl's name?" Hermione stared down into the swirling liquid of her tea, "I can't…I can only remember…that is, I only remember —"
"Drink your tea, Miss Granger, or I swear I'll stick you to a bed like a first year with the flu!"
"That's Apprentice Granger to you, Poppy," Hermione grumbled, raising the cup to her lips.
She took a moment to identify the flavors hiding beneath the chamomile. Peppermint, lavender, and the briny flavor of crocodile heart. Subtle enough to go unnoticed if you weren't looking for it.
The calm washed over her. It mingled with her magic, intertwining with the rolling energy, and she breathed deeply as the potion settled into her system. She focused on what was tangible. The teacup in her hands, the fabric against her arms and legs, the curls tickling her neck. Calming Draught worked wonders…most times. So she closed her eyes and sat quietly, praying that her body would accept the help it clearly couldn't give itself.
Throughout the past six months, her magic had been rejecting potions. Topical application was fine and dandy, but something about the effect of ingested potions made her own power fight for control. Hermione theorized that perhaps it was a response to the darkness that still twitched and crawled behind the carved slur gifted to her by Bellatrix Lestrange during her time at Malfoy Manor. The scar on her left arm had yet to fully heal. She'd wake some nights with her skin tacky against the sheets, the cuts having opened as she thrashed in her sleep and then drying against the white linens.
Her magic was constantly aware of the dead witch's curse as it pulsed beneath her skin. But there was nothing she could do to remove it. Nothing the healer's were able to do. Or even the curse breakers. It was too intricate. It weaved itself within her like a fine, invulnerable thread. And separating the magic of the curse from the magic of Hermione was too delicate a task. Too dangerous.
So my magic is confused! That's fine! I can fix it. I mean, I can feel the Calming Draught working so maybe…
"I came as quickly as I could, Poppy!" The Headmistress burst into the office.
Hermione jumped and the teacup toppled out of her hands. She gasped and flexed her fingers, stopping the cup in midair before waving her arm softly and floating it back to its tray on Poppy's desk. It landed with a quiet clink.
Minerva put a hand to her heart, "Hermione Granger! When did you learn wandless magic?"
"Never mind that, Headmistress," Poppy wrung her hands, "Hermione, dear, do you realize that you've been sitting unresponsive for almost an hour?"
"What!" Hermione croaked, "No, of course not! I mean…was I really? Oh no, I'm so sorry! Did we have any patients?"
"Goodness, child, you have nothing to apologize for!" Minerva clucked, adjusting the brim of her pointed hat.
"No, it's been calm since Miss Gaines left. You are my only patient at this time."
Hermione ducked her head and blushed at Poppy's stern look. She cleared her throat, "Did you call anyone else? Besides the Headmistress, I mean."
Poppy shook her head, "Absolutely not. I take patient confidentiality very seriously, you know that. I admit calling Minerva was a bit unprofessional of me and I do apologize, Hermione. I confess I was…worried."
"I'm so sorry, Poppy. I've been out of sorts lately," Hermione tucked a curl behind her ear, "But no one else was notified, correct? I really would prefer to keep this as quiet as possible."
"PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL!" Harry's voice bellowed from the Hospital Wing entrance. Hermione rolled her eyes as her best friend skidded into the already crowded office. His green eyes landed on her, "Hermione! McGonagall made it sound like you'd fallen into some kind of coma!" He slumped down onto the sofa next to her, "But you seem fine."
"Yes, Harry, I'm fine. The Headmistress has a flair for the dramatic, that's all. Can we please just drop this for today? I'm just stressed, that's all. I zoned out! Like I do sometimes after studying for a few days, you know? Really, Harry, I'm okay. You didn't tell Ron, did you?"
Harry pursed his lips and glanced at the door, "No…"
"HARRY!" A flurry of red hair smacked into the back of McGonagall's robes.
Hermione elbowed Harry in the ribs.
After an hour of answering Poppy's questions, the office felt stifling. Crowded with five adults and memory after memory of her time on the run with Harry and Ron, battling Death Eaters at Hogwarts, and healing the injured in the Great Hall…the mood was somber.
"It's PTSD, yeah?" Ron said hesitantly, "A lot of the senior Aurors have it. They only put a name to it after one of the Muggleborns brought a, uh, a Psychology book to the office."
Minerva sighed, "Many more than just senior Aurors live with the trauma of war now, Mr. Weasley. And war has more than one face."
"Explain again why you think your body is rejecting potions?" Poppy flipped through the notes she'd been taking, "What did you compare it to? It was a muggle term. Autumn…?" Poppy waved her hands, trying to remember the word.
"Autoimmune disease. It's when a person's immune system mistakes a part of their body as foreign and attacks healthy cells. The comparison doesn't really work because, thankfully, my magic isn't attacking itself. But it is attacking the things that are trying to help me. It recognizes that the magic of a potion is foreign and I think as a response to the dark magic lingering in the scar, it's treating all foreign substances as a curse of some sort. So even though the potion is there to help me, my magic keeps trying to defend me." She rested her head on Harry's shoulder, "I don't know. I'm exhausted."
"Let's go to lunch!" Ron offered, "It's been a while since the three of us spent some quality time together!"
Harry patted Hermione's knee, "I've got a better idea. Follow me, you lot." He jumped up from the sofa and pushed Ron out the office door. "Thanks for flooing me, Professor."
"I'll owl you for tea, Mr. Potter," the Headmistress smiled.
Hermione stood up slowly, worried she might faint again, and felt a weight lift off her shoulders when things seemed…normal. Thank Merlin.
"Go on," Poppy squeezed her shoulder, "I'm going to do some reading and see if I can find anything you might've missed during your research. And don't worry about the Hospital Wing! I held this place together for years before you came along, Apprentice Granger!"
Hermione laughed and let Poppy pull her in for a hug, "Thank you, Poppy."
"And I won't say anything to Severus, but my dear you're going to be working with him. He's going to find out if he hasn't already."
"I understand," Hermione nodded, "I'll take care of myself." She turned to Minerva, "I'll come by your office for tea sometime soon, Headmistress."
"COME ON, HERMIONE!" the boys shouted.
She gave a quick wave to the older women and stepped out of the office.
Behind her, Minerva's Scottish brogue all but shrieked, "What do you mean she's working with Severus!"
