Though the Black library did not contain Rasputin's Reptilian Resource, the Medicinal Potions and Antidotes section at Hogwarts did. Hermione had spent most of Saturday night making copies of the chapters of interest, then had returned to Grimmauld Place to delve into Mindful Meddling. When that book was exhausted, she turned to Walking the Inner Ways. Then, Fortress of the Mind.
It was Sunday afternoon when Harry came home, though Hermione was then measuring time by lengths of parchment filled rather than what any clock told her. She heard him coming up the stairs and, out of habit, drew her wand, though she felt silly when his scruffy-haired head poked through the library door.
"Alright, Hermione?" He paused in the hallway and seemed to be watching her with much the same caution he might use when regarding an undetonated dung bomb.
Between his hesitance and the way these interruptions interfered with her research, Hermione was reluctant to put away her wand. She wanted to snap and snarl until he left her in peace – she was so close! Instead, she forcefully reminded herself that Harry was her friend and that he had a right to be concerned. When she spoke, her voice was calm, if a bit terse.
"Come to see the crazy old maid, have you?"
Harry finally stepped into the library. He brushed the ashes out of his hair and off of his robes before he drew out the chair opposite Hermione and sat in it. He met her eyes, firm and level. "Okay. What gives?"
She took a deep breath, bracing herself. Harry seemed to already have an opinion on matters, which meant that Ron had been in a bad state last night. Add to it that Ron had returned to their dormitory on Saturday night – which was unofficially 'Harry and Ginny Are Married, Now, So Bugger Off, Ron' Night – and it was perfectly understandable that Harry would be a little extra perturbed by the state of things.
Hermione folded her hands in her lap and sat up straight. "I had to let Ron go."
Harry gaped at her. "'Let him go'? Hermione, did you dump him or did you fire him?"
"I did what was best for him." A touch warm-cheeked, she raised her chin and returned Harry's incredulity with her grim look.
"How is breaking his heart for the best?"
"Better now than in another year or two, isn't it?" She didn't like the way he was staring at her, as if he didn't know her at all, as if she was being so outrageously unfair. "Look Harry, I realize I've been selfish. But I'm not so short-sighted as to let one of my best friends waste his life pining after me when I have other priorities."
"Other priorities? Hermione, you have always had other priorities. School, the war, S.P.E.W.!" His eyes crinkled with undying exasperation. "What makes you think solving this latest thing is going to change that?"
She paused a moment, lips pinched into a tight frown, before speaking in a low voice. "Harry Potter, are you trying to lecture me about letting go?"
"No, Hermione." Sympathy broke into his expression and he waved a hand. "What you're doing now is important – probably for the whole world, even. But don't let this… quest keep you from living, either."
"I can't."
Her voice quaked just the tiniest bit when she spoke, but Hermione pushed on. Her eyes locked with Harry's, latched onto the understanding that was suddenly there.
"It's getting worse, not better. I only work now so that I can buy books and food, but mostly books." She shook her head, her voice dully registering her own surprise. "Remember when I took that job? I said it was only for the summer, that I'd pick up studying again that fall. A year's gone by – an entire year – and I can't stop. I get closer every day, but just by inches. It could take years to develop a functional matrix. And I have to finish this, Harry."
"I know you do. So does Ron. Hell, Hermione, we want to help you do it. That's why I don't get it."
"Don't you see, Harry?" She pulled her lips back in something like a smile. "You and Ron are on your way to becoming Aurors. I haven't even applied to any universities… because I don't care."
Harry's eyes bulged. His whisper was almost a reprimand, as if she had spoken blasphemy. "Hermione!"
"I don't care about my future. I don't care about my education. All I want is to solve the puzzle, Harry. Ron, he can go on with his life. Marry someone who can spare him more than one night of the week, you know?"
Harry heaved a skeptical breath and Hermione leaned forward onto the table. This was not something she had planned on explaining to either of the boys, but she needed Harry, at least, to understand. "I love Ron dearly, but lately when Saturday night rolls around, I… just feel like he's in my way. My research is too technical to talk about with him, and I can't enjoy going out or seeing a film or anything, because my mind is always here." She jabbed one finger hard on her notes. It connected with a satisfying thump. "And that leaves just the one thing we do together that- well, it does make me feel better, I'll admit, but-"
He turned his eyes up to the ceiling and winced. "Please don't tell me about your sex life, Hermione."
"I'll spare you the gory details," she sniped, "but the fact of the matter is I almost never stop thinking about catching those Death Eaters, Harry. Never. Do you understand?"
She saw the moment comprehension flooded his face. "You mean, even while you're- when he's-"
"Every time."
Harry peered around the room, blushing and shaking his head at everything but her.
"You cannot tell Ronald any of this," Hermione said in a rush. "He won't understand. It's not about him or his… techniques-"
"Gah!"
"It's my mind, Harry. I'm not there with him, even when I really want to be. And I feel like that's what our whole relationship has boiled down to; two people experiencing the same events in totally different ways. That's not what I want, and it's not enough for Ron, either. It's not fair or right, but that's the ugly truth of it."
Harry was finally looking at her, but he was looking at her as if he wasn't so sure he knew her, anymore. "You… Has it always been… like that, for you?"
"Oh, Harry." She rubbed her face, sitting back in the chair. Her eyes were puffy and slightly crusted from her sleeplessness. "No. It didn't start this way - but I'm not the girl I was when we defeated Voldemort, you know? My Dad died. All my precautions, the memory charms, Australia, all that meant nothing. I brought my parents back too soon and Death Eaters killed him. It's hard to pretend like anything else matters."
Hermione brushed the tears off her cheeks with her sleeves, so she didn't see the moment Harry moved around the table to hug her. But she felt it, and she clung to him and pressed her face to his shoulder. She heaved a few sobbing breaths and he awkwardly patted her back. Finally, when she'd calmed down a bit, he spoke.
"I'm sorry, Hermione. You're the best of us, you know. I always kind of assume you have some kind of trick up your sleeve. But there's not really a trick for grief, is there?"
"No," she sniffed against his shoulder. "I looked."
"'Course you did."
She chuckled wetly and drew back again. "Does this mean you don't hate me?"
"Couldn't if I tried." Harry stayed where he was, kneeling on the floor by her chair. He pointed at her, suddenly serious. "You can't dump me, though. I'm your landlord."
Hermione smiled and rolled her eyes at him. "Oh, well, when you put it that way."
He stood up and glanced at her parchment-littered work station. "Making progress?"
The mere mention of her project flushed Hermione with new energy and enthusiasm. "I think I'm making a breakthrough, Harry. It's not quite what I was working on before, but I think it could ultimately give me the leg-up I need to pin down an Arithmantic formula for a post-mortem tracker spell and, well… this could be it."
"What did you find?"
She opened her mouth, eyes gleaming with hope, but then hesitated. "I don't want to jinx it, Harry. I need to research more and… run a test. Then, I'll tell you all about it. Promise."
Harry only smiled indulgently. They had been through this any number of times already, with other breakthroughs that didn't ultimately pan out. And if he was relieved he didn't have to listen to a whole long explanation about how this time was different, he had the good grace not to show it.
After Harry left, Hermione threw herself back into her work. It was only when she ran out of parchment hours later that she realized it was after midnight. Had she not paused to check a clock on her way to the cabinet, she may have worked through the second consecutive night.
She forced a few hours of sleep and then Flooed to work at Flourish and Blotts Monday morning with gritty eyes, a stiff back, and hope nattering at the back of her mind. The whole day, she fought a battle in one direction or the other, struggling first with drowsiness, then with failing concentration. Her thoughts strayed constantly away from the new texts she was shelving and she had to stop herself from opening any books even tangentially related to her topic of interest - even those she had read already - else risk becoming irreversibly engrossed.
.
.
A week passed that way, mind-numbing days chasing franticly cerebral nights until it was Saturday again. Walking into the Spell Damage Ward, Hermione acted precisely as she always did when visiting her mother.
Being as it was the first Saturday of September, she brought along a selection of new books. Mostly, they were books on Muggle science or culture, though she always threw in a couple of slim collections of poetry and at least one book on the Wizarding World in an effort towards her ongoing project of bringing her mother more fully into her life. Jane smiled agreeably and accepted the books with unfeigned pleasure.
"Oh, and you brought me a crossword! What a darling daughter I have…"
"Good exercise for the brain."
They sat together in the blockish upholstered chairs gathered by the windows. Jane was fully dressed in preparation for a field trip of sorts. The ward sent its mostly-cognizant occupants on monthly outings to the sea to promote good emotional well-being. Hermione's mother seemed especially excited this month.
"Now that the summer's over, it'll be just a cool, breezy day, walking along the beach… unless, of course, that Morton fellow tries to turn himself into a shark again. I swear, he gets the funniest ideas in his head." Her smile became squinty-eyed – almost a smirk. "He likes to tell me about the days when he was a cannon! Even Donald wouldn't be able to keep a straight face for that one…"
'That Morton fellow' was, in fact, Montolio Morton, who had played for the Chudley Cannons until an out-of-bounds Bludger had knocked him quite permanently off both his broom and his nut. Hermione saw no reason for her mother to know this though. She suspected it made Jane feel better if she thought she was the least crazy person in the ward.
"You've been awfully quiet today, dear. Is something the matter?" Jane folded her delicate hands in her lap and tilted her head in her particular blend of perceptiveness and concern.
Hermione heaved a great sigh. Her only news was bad news, and there was no telling how Jane would take it. Not wanting to ruin what should be a fun day, Hermione only offered up a weary smile.
"I'm just tired, I suppose. I've a bit of a new project underway and I've had a few long nights this week."
Jane looked at her for a drawn-out moment, seeming to pierce through the excuses to a deeper source. "I do wish you'd take better care of yourself, Hermione." She reached out with her slender hand and tucked one of her only child's errant curls back amongst its fellows, stroking her pale cheek as she did so. "You're still so thin. Are you eating well?"
"I'm trying." The witch leaned into her mother's touch. "I just get so wrapped up."
"You were never this skinny when you came back from school, you know. You always had rosy, round cheeks and bright eyes… What's the matter, dear?"
Hermione sniffed a bit and drew back to dig in her bag for a handkerchief. "Ah, Mum…" She dabbed her eyes and smiled at the older woman. "It's just- everything changing. It's hard not being a kid anymore."
Jane smiled sadly. At the other end of the ward, a nurse made an announcement that it was time for patients who were going on the trip to make their way to the front desk. Hermione stood and gathered up the books she had brought with her.
"I'll put these on your beside table. Do you want to keep any of the old lot?"
"No, dear. I've finished with them." Despite the words, she placed a gentle hand on Hermione's arm where it was wrapped around the stack of books. "Do you know, when I was your age, I had no clue what to do with my life?"
Hermione pulled up short and stared. In her head, she was doing quick calculations. "I would have thought you were at university."
"Oh, darling, I was nearly thirty before I decided to go into dentistry."
For a heart-shattering moment, Hermione was afraid. Was this some new manifestation of Jane's condition? Were all of her memories now becoming corrupted? But despite the horrified look that had to be plainly visible on her face, Jane only laughed, a little embarrassed.
"I know, dear. A truly shocking revelation - and no small hypocrisy on my part, I'll admit. I only wanted you to have every opportunity, right from the start." Her smile was gentle, glowing from within as she looked up at her only child. "The point is that you aren't the only remarkably capable person to climb something of a metaphorical mountain and then look around wondering what to do next. Be kind to yourself, dear. You'll work it out."
Hermione felt another tear spill over and dribble down her cheek. "Thanks, Mum."
Jane lingered for a moment, pressing one cool hand to Hermione's cheek and smiling at her. Then she turned for the reception area and left. Hermione watched her dignified walk for a moment, struck deeply by a sudden awareness that this woman had lived an entire life before she had decided to have a child. Jane had been a young woman that Hermione could only just faintly imagine, and that hint of another life filled her with a flurry of fresh questions.
But that was not for today. She ducked through the curtain and exchanged the books with the neat stack next to the tidily-made bed. Time was short.
After swiftly tucking the old books into her beaded bag, Hermione peeked out of the curtain towards the far end of the ward and, seeing no witnesses, scurried across the way to the cubicle of Severus Snape.
He was awake and sitting up against his pillows, his black eyes doing their unconscious dance along the curtain opposite him. He did not seem to see her - and that alarmed her more this week than it had last week, because suddenly it wasn't just the Sorry Story of Severus Snape that hung in the balance; it was justice itself. If there was nothing at all left of him in there, there was nothing to be done.
Gingerly, Hermione sat on the edge of his bed as she had seen Gwen do the previous week. "Mr. Snape?"
Snape's eyes continued their fluttering dance without so much as alighting on her. He was dressed, unaccountably, in a nightgown with little ducky print. They swam blue waves in rows, pink, green, and yellow duckies with cheery dots for eyes. This close, Hermione could see the raised texture of the scars across his throat and she could smell the shampoo the nurses had been using – something strawberry.
It smelled nice, but Snape would never approve. In fact, he would no doubt devise some unnecessarily cutting remarks for the staff, given the chance. And, heaven help her, she meant to give him the chance.
Whipping out her wand, Hermione stared into her ex-professor's eyes and muttered, "Legilimens."
She mentally flailed about, searching for something, some sign that there was a mind at all behind those eyes that – curse it! – kept roving about.
Releasing the spell, Hermione huffed a sigh. She had to make him be still or she would never find what she was looking for, if it was even there at all.
Acutely aware that the nurse on duty could come looking for her at any second, Hermione silently petrified Snape. His eyes were pointed at a spot somewhere above his feet. Leaning over his still body she again hissed, "Legilimens."
This time was much better, as if the connection had stopped vanishing and reappearing before her. However, this also meant that Hermione could more clearly sense what she was faced with.
It was like reaching into a well. Where Snape's mind should have been, there was only a long, deep fall. The complete absence of any mind at all. Dread swelled in her belly as Hermione reached, grasping in the dark.
And then she found it; there was a thread-thin presence, like the rope connecting crank to bucket. When she followed it down a little ways, she felt a distant thrumming of life and activity.
Hermione withdrew quickly. She took a few calming breaths before releasing Snape from the paralysis, then sat back from him as his eyes carried on with their aimless journey.
Mindful of the limited time she had left, she rose, peeked out into the ward, and, certain the coast was clear, began walking for the door. Her stride was held under rigid control, a dignified pace that bespoke calm confidence. She nodded to the nurse on duty and, finally stepping out the door, paused on the landing.
With her eyes not really seeing the stairwell that sank and rose before her, Hermione Granger's face split into a fierce and victorious grin.
She had found Severus Snape's mind. She knew how to fix him.
.
.
Not an hour later, Hermione appeared with a crack on the sidewalk in front of a little house outside of Darlington. It was a charming brick with goldenrod trim and a walled-in yard positively overflowing with bushes, stalks, buds, and blooms of myriad colors and sizes. Outside the front window, there was a stumpy birdbath, thickly overgrown with some manner of flowering vine that periodically dipped its tendrils in the water and raised them to the sky.
As Hermione opened the iron gate and strolled up the walk, some particularly curious orchid-like flowers turned their broad faces to watch her progress. She stepped up onto the stoop and knocked three strong raps against the front door. While waiting, she studied the birdbath. A clutch of greenish toads lounged in the water, snapping up the insects that came to investigate the flowering vine.
The door opened and Neville's face split into a surprised smile. "Hermione! Come in!"
"Afternoon, Neville," Hermione chirped brightly as she stepped past him. "I hope I'm not intruding, but I've just had the most exciting discovery."
Hardly noticing the narrow entryway they stood in, Hermione whirled to Neville the instant he closed the door. "Do you still want to help?"
Perhaps it was the manic gleam in her eye or the fact that she was effectively blocking his escape to any other part of his house, but the Neville didn't remove his hand from the doorknob. "I- Catching the…?" He straightened. "Yes, I do."
"Right. Then, as I need a hand with this next step, you're just the fellow to lend it. Oh, Neville, this is it! I can feel it!" Her hands curled into fists.
"Would you like some tea or something?" He tried to urge her further down the hallway, but she only spoke more quickly.
"It's his immunity, Neville, that's the only reason he's still alive. It's brilliant, really. He managed to build up an immunity to the physical effects of the neurotoxin, but he couldn't develop a magical immunity, so his mind was still chucked out of order. He's just cleaning house, Neville! Once it's all put to rights, he'll be good as new – and then!" Hermione wasn't even looking at her host anymore, but gazing off over his shoulder. "Then we'll have them."
A moment of silence passed while she imagined it, an end to this hunt, this quest as Harry had called it. Maybe then the old desires would spark back into her heart. Maybe she could bring herself to care about school or Ron or any normal thing, if she could only finish this.
Neville swallowed. "We will?"
Hermione looked back at him, grinning. "Without a doubt. Now, when do you normally visit your parents in hospital, Neville?"
"I, ah… Whenever I get free time, I suppose. I thought I might stop by after work on Monday."
"Excellent. Wait for me in the stairwell at six o'clock sharp." She pushed past him and stepped out the door.
"At St. Mungo's? Hermione, what-? What are we going to do?"
Standing on his stoop, Hermione looked back over her shoulder at the confounded wizard, her face positively alight with anticipation.
"We're going to steal Professor Snape."
