Disclaimer: This is all for fun, I do not claim ownership of the characters or anything recognized from the work of JK Rowling. I am only borrowing them.
Warning: Mature themes, subject to change: mild violence, strong language, substance use or abuse, scenes of a sexual nature as well as general innuendo smattered throughout, adult themes including but not limited to death and disease both mental and physical.
[A/N] This will be the longest chapter in this story yet, so that said I was tempted to cut it in pieces. That is also my excuse for it being a longer wait than normal. There is a lot of important plot information in here. Some of it is hidden decently but most of it is hidden poorly. On purpose, of course. If you have slogged through this far I wanted to reward you with character interaction and exposition! Please let me know what you think. I want to know if something should be clarified or if it does not fit into the story from your view. I would be happy to either clarify it in a PM or include it in one of the coming chapters.
Special thanks to my friend who is semi-betaing this for me and my reviewers that have helped shape the tone of the story. Bubblecloudz, you get your wish in the next chapter! Duj, you are diamond with your theory-talk, it has inspired a few conversations in this so far. And to everyone else reading, following, reviewing, and adding this to your favorites it really makes my day. Thank you for muddling through the recent site issues to spare a few moments for me!
Playlist: The Who – Behind Blue Eyes | Miles Kane – Come Closer | Royal Blood – Figure It Out | Fall Out Boy – Save Rock & Roll | Paramore – Riot! Album
Sunday July 31st, 2005| 7:24 am | St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
"What do you mean she isn't in her room, Master Malfoy?"
"Just what I said, you imbecile, she's not there and you're the one supposedly standing guard."
"But sir, I only just got assigned-"
"I am exceedingly disinterested in your excuses, fuckwit. Stop wasting time and go find her!"
Draco fingered his wand threateningly as he watched the Auror assigned to guard Hermione's rooms scurry away towards the nearest Healer's desk to begin his search, waving his wand with tracking spells as he went. With a snarl at his futile attempts, Draco went into the ward Hermione had recently vacated. The sheets were made neatly and the tray was exactly parallel to the bed. For all intents and purposes the room looked unused and not as if a heavily monitored and sedated witch had spent the night.
The only item that did not belong to the perfect image was a small vial with a swirling memory waiting for him. A note was on a bit of clean gauze next to it in Hermione's neat printed script.
July 30th – Warding - Patronus
"Fuck!" he bellowed in the quiet of the room. Snatching the vial from the counter he swept out of the room towards the stairwell at the east end of the corridor. The lifts had been teeming with press and curious citizens along with those who were here as actual patients so avoiding them was the best course of action.
Hermione had made it very clear with her note she was not going to be easy to find if the only method of contacting her was through Patronus. Draco's had not worked correctly since taking the Mark. He wondered if Severus had the same issue since there was no way in Merlin he was going to ask Scarhead to send one to her so he could run off and bollocks everything up. He had already done such a wonderful job assigning security to her while he sucked off the press at Hogwarts for McGonagall.
Storming into the lab where Severus was glaring stonily at one of the newer apprentices on staff, Draco slipped the vial into his vest pocket for safekeeping. Severus's eyes briefly met Draco's and in that two second window Draco dropped just enough of his Occluding storm to show Snape Hermione's empty hospital bed.
"Mr. Stonewall, I assume you can be trusted to brew the basic potions necessary for the ward?" Severus was in full Professor Snape mode as he returned to looming over Richard Stonewall. Two fists were behind Stonewall's back as he tried to stop his hands from trembling.
"Yes, sir!" he squeaked, his eyes unblinking.
"See to it I still have a lab to return to. I am not to be disturbed for some minor inconvenience such as a melted cauldron or the bidding of Harry Potter. Is this understood?" As he emphasized the word Potter, the apprentice flinched.
"Yes, sir!" Stonewall repeated before busying himself with cleaning the soiled cauldrons. Draco noted impassively that his healing robes were haphazardly draped over his shoulders and he had missed a button when doing up his sleeves. If not for the telling look that Severus had already done so, Draco would have flayed him for jeopardizing hospital security. He was certain that no more hospital apprentices would make the same mistake Stonewall had made that ought to cost him his job.
Without a word Severus left the lab and took Draco with him to the locked anteroom with their armchairs. The Pensieve floated innocuously in the center. The basin in which the potion for memories was held had been left to Severus in the Headmaster's will, which he had felt entitled to since he was the one who had brewed the tenth level potion for Dumbledore in the first place.
"Are you still able to produce a Patronus?"
Severus halted in his tracks just before he reached the basin. He did not turn towards Draco as he replied, "I have not had the need to produce a Patronus since the winter of 1998."
"One of the symptoms of this Merlin damned curse is the reduced ability to produce a Patronus and you haven't even tried to use yours since this all started?" Draco's voice increased in volume and shrillness as he went on.
"Do not take that tone with me, insolent boy! Why the non-sequitur?"
"She left a note letting me know this is her memory from yesterday morning and that she will only allow contact by Patronus. The format is how she and I coordinated study times in France, sans the Patronus portion but otherwise it follows form. I sent the Auror at her door on her trail but I doubt they will find anything." Draco glowered darkly, shoving his hands into his pockets and hunching his shoulders. "She did not have enough energy to Apparate from the grounds and I doubt she Floo'ed anywhere in her condition, she wouldn't end up in the right fireplace."
"Granger is an accomplished Healer, and she's survived thus far with this blasted curse. I trust that she left the memory for us to review before attempting to reach out to her for good reason. On the matter of the Patronus, everyone in the Order was trained on how to use their Patronus as a communication device but me. It was assumed I could not cast one, no other Death Eaters could."
With his scowl deepening, Draco spat, "I won't make the mistake of stating I am displeased with the overall result of the war but how in the fuck did the Order win? The more I learn about the members and their methods during the war it's astounding they weren't knocked arse over teakettle within months of his return."
Severus tipped the bottle of Hermione's memories into the basin without preamble after Draco handed it to him from his vest pocket.
"The Dark Lord was insane, Draco. If he had used an alternate method of immortality than splitting his very soul multiple times then the Order surely would have been destroyed."
As one, they entered the Pensieve.
Sunday July 31st, 2005| 8:29 am | Dursley Flat, London
Dudley sat at the table in his kitchenette, watching his fiancée move with practiced ease as she neatly diced and sliced vegetables. An unconscious smile ghosted on his lips as his eyes trailed her. The soft summer sun shone through their flat's windows lighting the side of her face and sending bright red streaks of light through her dark thick hair.
"Should I make extra treacle for your parents, love? I imagine they won't be joining us tonight."
"Of course they won't. We're going into the wizarding world for this dinner so they don't even know that we're going, just that we've rescheduled Sunday dinner. Don't over think this, Clare," replied Dudley. He stood from his seat at the table to begin washing the soiled dishes. "It's Harry's birthday, but the others will make enough fuss over it."
Clarissa made a vague humming sound and began to slice a bit faster. Dudley dried his hands and carefully grasped her hand to slow and eventually stop its frantically paced movement. Standing behind her he could easily rest his head atop hers as she allowed herself to relax into his back.
"We might even see your uncle," Dudley said as he rubbed soothing hands up and down her arms. "Dedalus mentioned in his last letter he had been invited to something for Harry's birthday."
Clarissa turned in his arms and placed both of her palms on his cheeks to plant a gentle kiss on his lips. "You know Dedalus isn't really my uncle, Dudley. Just my brother's godfather and that has a lot more weight in the wizarding world."
He gave her an indulgent smile. "I won't pretend to be all that bright, especially when it comes to magic, but I figured that out for myself. I think I have more to worry about than you do, you know. Being a Muggle. The last time I visited that house I made a wrong turn to the loo and walked into a room that tried to pull every single hair on my body out by the roots. Hermione was furious."
With a giggle that ended with a sigh, Clarissa continued, "The Blacks weren't known for their love of non-magical people. But that's not why I'm worried. I keep thinking about Hermione's visit last Friday night and I'm coming back to what she wasn't telling us. Is work pushing her too hard?"
Dudley sighed and tried to nuzzle his nose into her messy top knot but she placed her hands on his chest to keep his gaze on hers. Her dark brown eyes were narrowed a bit and her jaw set sternly.
"No, it's not work," he started as he searched for the right words.
Their dinner with Hermione had been enjoyable, just like dozens they had had in this flat before, but he could hide little from Clare. After the third time Hermione had tripped while rounding the armrest of the couch or had leaned against the wall in a forced casual way he couldn't help but pull her aside to ask if she was feeling well. She was certainly not a prima ballerina but she didn't normally trip over her own two feet quite that often. There also had not been enough wine emptied from the bottle at dinner to affect any one of them that significantly.
Dudley hated holding anything back from Clare but Hermione had made him swear not to tell anyone else about her symptoms. He wouldn't even know where to begin to describe it since his brief exposure to it had reminded him of films where a character was possessed or had terminal cancer. Best not to entertain that train of thought.
There were still worry lines on her forehead that he tried to smooth away with butterfly kisses and the tension had left her shoulders with Dudley's soothing.
"She's been…drained lately is all, but she knows her limits." Clare simply nodded and sighed at that.
Dudley continued to make soothing motions with his hands over the sleeves of her dressing gown, moving his lips from her temple back to her mouth, moving languidly. It only took one step to push her body between his hips and the counter behind her. There was no urgency between them as neither of them had any obligations for hours to come. Clare had only been prepping the food out of nervousness and now the carrots lay abandoned.
As his hands slid from her arms to her lower back Clare arched into him a bit and nearly purred. His movement caused the shoulder of her second best dressing gown to bare one ebony collarbone.
Right before he had the chance to pay that collarbone and what followed below the attention it deserved, there was a thunderous banging on the front door of his flat.
Sunday July 31st, 2005| 11:36 am | Dursley Flat, London
Dudley had left Clare in the spare room to make sure Hermione had everything she needed after her shower to sleep in the guest bed. As he backed away from the room, he let the small panic attack he had been suppressing for the last few hours finally take control of his heartbeat and breathing.
These small attacks had been very frequent following the attack the summer of his fifteenth birthday by Dementors. In recent years they had abated between his improved diet and exercise and through his relationship with Clare. Harry had explained once that something, or someone, in his life to make him happy would diminish their lingering affect. Clarissa Thomas certainly fit the bill of making Dudley a very happy man.
Hermione had interrupted their calm morning by coming to their flat appearing for all purposes like a cat that had been dragged backwards through a hedge. As he peered through the peephole and swiftly undid the lock and chain after recognizing her, he didn't ask her what was wrong, merely acted.
"Clare, could you draw a warm bath for me please?" he called to his fiancée. His voice sounded hollow to him as it echoed oddly in his ears but it did not betray the rising horror constricting his chest. Years of exposure had honed his skill of recognizing when a panic attack was imminent. Clare nodded, a hand held over her mouth at the sight Hermione presented as she leaned precariously against their doorjamb.
He didn't hesitate before lifting the slight witch into his arms to get her off of her feet. Her bleary eyes gave him her thanks before she rested her head on his shoulder. Even though she was dead weight in his arms Dudley felt she was still too light.
"Don't tell Harry," she whispered to him.
Dudley set his jaw and nodded to her once before leaving her in Clare's capable hands to assist her into the bath to wash off the grime on her exposed legs and arms. The scar on her arm looked lividly red. He had seen the foul word on more than one occasion as she had no qualms about hiding it when she was around him; it had been the spark of many a conversation between them on the merits and detriments of the wizarding and Muggle world.
It had taken being placed in protective custody from a deranged serial killer, but Dudley had grown up when it came to his opinion of wizards and witches. It was no longer a blind opinion based on his father's fear and his mother's bitterness but a mature cautiousness in general. He knew and respected many wizards, not the least of which Dedalus Diggle who along with Hestia Jones had protected his family for almost a year while his cousin fought said madman and his stooges, for lack of a better term. For that alone he would be eternally grateful. But he was more grateful to him for bringing along his godson Ishmael and de facto niece Clarissa Thomas.
Near the end of their quarantine in the secret house he later learned was owned by Harry's old schoolmaster Dumbledore, Dedalus had added to their little safe house. Hestia had initially bristled at the potential safety risk of bringing more into their fold.
"Death Eaters attacked their home, Hestia. Ishmael was due to start Hogwarts this year but his parents held him back," explained Dedalus. "Clarissa is of age, but is a Squib with no way of defending the both of them."
Hestia had bent her opinion after that.
During a panic attack the first week of the Thomas's stay, Dudley had been comforted by Clarissa. Where his mother and father had no pity or understanding of his condition as it was a direct consequence of a magical creature, the condition had been ignored as contrived. A hand to hold while he got his breathing under control was all it took from Clarissa to calm him. She may have been a Squib, a non-magical child born to magical parents as Dedalus later explained, but she had healing magic of her own in his eyes.
He retreated away from the sound of Clare whispering soothing words to Hermione to get her to sleep. The filth she had accumulated on her walk from St. Mungo's to their flat was washed down the drain of the bathtub but it was clear there was still a pall in the air around the witch. When Clarissa had asked her gently why she hadn't Apparated to their hall instead of walking halfway across the city in the heat Hermione had shaken her head.
"I thought you both still subscribed to the Prophet through Harry's name. I didn't have enough magical strength to do it safely."
At that Clare had shot him a look that meant distinctly he should check the post immediately as she finished combing out Hermione's hair. The paper, both the Sunday Times and Prophet, were waiting innocently near their front door.
The headline of the Prophet had empurpled his cheeks; Hermione's condition was spelled out in black and white for all to see. No wonder she had left the wizarding hospital, she would not have any peace there to recover. Ever since he had known her she had been very tight-lipped about her illness; ashamed wasn't the right word but she was absolutely concealing it from prying eyes. Most of the reasons he could understand: privacy for one and pity for the other. From what he knew of Hermione she preferred to work alone and was relatively introverted. Exposing her private life like this would usually send her into a blazing temper, especially after she had spent the last few years living a relatively normal life, but she was too exhausted to show it. After this exposure it would mean the beginning of the pity. Pity from coworkers. Pity from strangers. Pity from everyone that read the Prophet and fancied Hermione their war heroine. Those reasons, along with his respect for her as his friend, had kept Dudley from telling anyone what he knew about Hermione's true condition. Not even Clarissa knew everything he did about the real reasons she worked from home most days.
Admittedly Dudley did not understand all the reporter had written about what Hermione had been doing the prior morning at the school but he understood it had involved a lot of potentially dangerous magic and that Harry had been with her. Another pair of names in the article had caught his eye and he circled them with a ball point pen to ask Clare about later. Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape.
"She's asleep, love," called Clare softly as she walked down the hall to the sitting room that doubled as a dining room. She had changed after assisting Hermione with bathing as her dressing gown had been soaked with bathwater. He would never get over the vision of her wearing one of his old rugby practice shirts from college, the white cotton making her dark skin look even richer.
As she got closer to where he sat on the couch staring at the Prophet's moving photographs she placed a calming hand on his lower back. Dudley handed her the paper to read the front page for herself. Clarissa's lips tightened and eyes narrowed as she read.
"Did she tell you anything else?" he asked after a few minutes of silence. With her gentle hand at his back the attack that had been triggered by Hermione's haggard and sudden appearance was all but gone. "About what happened, why she came here?"
"She mentioned the article again and that a ceremony drained her almost completely. When I pressed her what the ceremony was for she explained it was to help Hogwarts, something about safety measures. I can't blame her for running away from the hospital, really, I doubt she would have been shielded very well from more reporters and she has been trying to hide from them for years." She paused, hesitating. "Hermione has Lautiores Maleficus, doesn't she?"
"As I understand it," confirmed Dudley. "These two wizards, Snape and Malfoy, don't they treat that? I've heard her talking about them before when the two of us work on the Derwent Designs account for Orphus and Gamble."
"They are both Potions Masters, from what I know. It makes sense that they would have a hand in that cure if they really are the ones who invented it. Master Snape used to teach Potions at Hogwarts up until the end of the war and Master Malfoy went to school with Hermione. The both of them have ties to former Death Eaters, and those are the ones who get sick most often. They're both considered war heroes, but not like Hermione, Ron and Harry. Ishmael told me in a letter once there is a long list of names of war heroes posted in the library at Hogwarts and that their names are on it."
Dudley hummed noncommittally. "What I don't get is what happened to her to drain her like this. She asked me not to tell Harry she's here but I think I need to send him a letter confirming our dinner tonight."
"I wish he would just get a cell phone or a computer like Hermione did. It's so much easier sending an email or ringing him rather than the trouble of sending a letter through that Floo connection."
Sunday July 31st, 2005| 1:14 pm | St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
Draco and Severus sat limply in their armchairs, each of them with a tumbler of Firewhiskey in a clenched fist.
"I'll grab seizure tincture from the lab," whispered Draco. "Don't go back in without me."
The memory had a visual cacophony of flashing lights and dizzying landscapes as soon as it hit the moment Granger collapsed. As their Lautiores Maleficus was only in remission, as shown by a blood test and magical core scan taken every month, they both were still susceptible to seizures. At the rate they were entering and leaving the memory for data it was only a matter of time before one of them had to hold the other's tongue; it was a textbook trigger for the attacks that were part of the litany of symptoms that suffers shared.
A drop on each of their tongues would act as a barrier between the brain cells that were inclined to misfire and mimic the effects of the Crutiatus curse. Many of the symptoms that the Death Eaters had experienced in their initial patient group imitated the Post-Prolonged Cruciatus Condition. The similarities began with the seizures, overall body ache and fatigue, as well as difficulty performing some Light spells. Comparisons ended when the catalogue continued into the occasional bout of vomiting up blood or the individual impaling themselves repeatedly on a poker from their fireplace during a particularly vivid hallucination. After extended exposure to a Dark spell like the Torture Curse it was common for a victim to be damaged in a way they would need Light magic therapy to recover. The therapy included meditation, reverse Occlusion and medical chocolate.
In retrospect it seemed absurd for the hospital to have used those methods to treat the first few witches and wizards affected by the curse. No Healer could be blamed for responding to typical symptoms in a typical way but no one had ever accused Severus of a lack of attention to detail. Without formal Healing training he responded as he always did to an anomaly in his health and acuity: assess the symptoms and brew an antidote. Witches and wizards Marked by the Dark Lord were increasingly wary of the treatment provided by St. Mungo's and therefore found their treatment elsewhere. Namely with Severus and Draco at Malfoy Manor.
This fear had been sparked by the notorious case of Marcus Flint. His mother, still grieving the Azkaban death of her husband, had nowhere to turn when she found her son and only heir in their study with his left arm almost completely severed at the elbow and convulsing in a pool of his own bodily fluids. What began as subdued chanting, muttering, and crooning to his partially severed arm abruptly changed to sobbing as his mother entered the room. Marcus was the last heir of a house of the Sacred Twenty-Eight so it was with no small amount of haste that his mother used the assistance of a house-elf to bring the sobbing man to the Healers.
Speculation on what had actually happened that night was heavy and varied, but the number of hours between his arrival and the pronouncement of his death could be counted on one hand. His wand was found on him even though he had been secured into a bed in a ward to keep him from thrashing and re-opening his newly knit arm. Standard procedure dictated the removal of the individual's wand from their person but kept within the room within an Anti-Summon shield. Marcus had been able to reach his wand despite his bindings to finish what he had started in the Flint Manor study.
From the report on the parchment record in his room, the one fed by the monitoring wristlet that all patients wore, he had voluntarily dismembered his left arm completely from his own body minutes after the last Healer was in the room. At that point the pain register flat lined at the highest reading it could accommodate. Mere seconds passed on the chart before Flint flat lined as well. Healers had arrived back into his rooms as soon as the monitoring wristlet sent out a warning to find that what remained of their patient could easily fit within the confines of a standard size 2 cauldron. Years later Severus and Draco would read all the reports and records of previous individuals affected by the curse, and Marcus's was the shortest and most ominous of the bunch. A bottle of Ogden's was polished off the night they had read it and realized that it could have been one of them, or Lucius, or Theo Nott, or anyone else just as easily as it had been Marcus.
Severus and Draco had been present at his funeral where his mother had to be restrained before clawing out the eyes of the Ministry official from St. Mungo's who had arrived to pay respects. Before she had succumbed to grief a few months later Madame Flint told anyone who would listen that the Healers had consciously left her son alone and unmonitored despite his schizophrenic condition, but there had been no substantiation. No one cared enough to look into the suicide of a known Death Eater.
Only in the last few years had other patients like Hermione Granger, Dennis Creevey, and Tracey Davis cropped up with matching symptoms and rune triggers. None of them carried the Mark and Severus was frankly sick of inputting more innocuous data into Arithmancy equations with no results to assist in his brewing besides that fact. His and Draco's recent revelation that Granger was the only Muggleborn participating in the warding ceremony had jogged his thoughts further in that direction but it would not do to let the girl succumb to her recent attack while he mulled over these new findings. Once she was found, stabilized as well as physically and magically healed, he would have her contracted mind in his lab to puzzle out the next steps to take towards a cure.
Four years had passed since the Wizengamot, in all their dubious intelligence, had chosen to strike certain data from records in the wizarding world. The rationale stood that if blood status had essentially started two wars in less than three decades then it was time to do something about that. Apparently doing something about it meant eradicating the information from medical and legal records and only using the knowledge of a child's parentage when they were entering the wizarding world for the first time. Discussing blood status since the implementation of the legislation, even in the most clinical sense, was just cause for interrogation by a Ministry official for disturbing the peace. Only now, as he sat clutching his tumbler of Firewhiskey, did it begin to match up that the cure was likely hidden within the paperwork nightmare that barred many recently taboo medical topics. There had been too many people to cure, too many variables, for him to have even noticed before this point. He cursed his shortsightedness regardless.
The whisper of Draco's dress robes against the carpeted floor and the scent of bay leaves alerted Severus to his presence just before the warm fingers of the Malfoy heir touched his chin. His eyes had remained shuttered since leaving the Pensieve after the most recent perusal. Even in the dimly lit antechamber a migraine pricked at the corners of his consciousness. In a rare show of trust he opened his mouth with eyes still closed for Draco to administer the single drop of the tincture. It was bitter, like dandelion stems.
"We've narrowed the memory down to just after Minerva signaled the warding, so we won't need to manipulate it as much this time," whispered Draco. Severus heard him sit down beside him.
Severus made a vague humming sound to indicate he had heard him, working to clear his mind of the flashing images from the memory. In the moments they waited for the tincture to completely coat their tongues, and just before they could stand the bitterness any longer, a small chime announced the house-elves sending an afternoon tea tray as requested. A single triangle of sandwich each and several mugs of tea later they both could open their eyes in the dim room and prepare themselves to enter the memory once again.
Saturday July 30th, 2005 | 6:42 am | Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Draco was thankful that the exertion he should have felt for walking up the west hill of Hogwarts from the entrance hall was nonexistent within a memory. It had been difficult enough to gather all the desired details from Scarhead's memory and he did not have the attention to detail that Hermione did. If he didn't know any better he would say hers was eidetic just like Severus's. Of course. Lucky swots.
The morning sun was rising on the opposite side of the campus but where they were headed was still shaded behind the imposing walls of the castle. By the timer he had set on his pocket watch, they had twenty-seven minutes until the Lovegoods started on the north side of Hogwarts and one hour until everything went to hell.
"Hermione must have gotten into a row with Potter," Draco said to his companion as they kept pace with the memory Hermione and Potter just a few steps ahead. It was disconcerting to run through a memory person, similar to walking through a ghost, so it was an experience they aimed to avoid. He saw the forms of himself and Severus near the lake and the dungeons in the distance, sharing their last moment of solitude with a cigarette. It made him want one now but there was no time.
Severus cocked his head to the side and considered the pair of blood-red clad Gryffindors walking before them. "Indeed. She is typically in a snit so I hadn't noticed the incremental increase in the degree of her attitude but she is steadfastly ignoring Potter's obvious guilt over something."
"Potter and Weasley have the particular talent to keep her in a constant state of irritation. If your only exposure to Hermione was through those blithering idiots it's no wonder." Draco paused in his insults. "Are we certain that Potter is not a variable in this?"
With what could only be described as a frustrated growl Severus answered, "Unfortunately no. Nothing that Potter did or said triggered any of the fallout."
The unspoken sentiment hung between them that they'd rather be able to blame the Boy Who Lived to Annoy the Hell out of Them.
At this point they had arrived at the utterly tasteless basin that had been erected for the Gryffindor quarter. Of course the basin was made of solid gold instead of plated with it. With the amount of gold within that basin the Hogwarts tuition for all the new incoming first years that fall could be covered all through their tenure at the school. Draco, for all that he was raised with a silver spoon in his mouth, knew the value of things. The value of friends and modesty and humbleness. There was no sign of the latter on this hill; politics be damned.
Even he with his clouded past knew the pressure of perfection in the public eye and recognized when opulence was being used as distraction. It was something he endured to shroud those he cared for, including his family and friends and those who he worked to cure. All of those glittering smiles and large donations had gone to shit the moment Hermione had collapsed and her condition was made obvious to all of those in the wizarding world. Irrefutably, he could blame that fallout on Potter's reaction as soon as she had fainted.
Now that they had all reached the summit and all four persons had exchanged frivolous sentimentalities and introductions he and Severus moved closer to the two reluctant celebrities. The first viewing of the memory had them caught outside the charm Potter discreetly cast around them to disguise their conversation. He had never wanted to know so much about the decoration choices for his brat's nursery. Their conversation reflected the Slytherin sentiment on the whole charade as well.
Severus paced around them and studied their body language for the third time that day. Draco kept close to Hermione and counted again how many shines of Glamour he could spot under her eyes, on her hair, and just over her entire appearance. Living within a stone's throw of her in France during their days at the Healing Academy and further hours spent working around each other had made him an unforeseen expert on her well-being, and the same went for him under her regard. Mutually hiding in France, for it had been hiding no matter how else they had painted it as simply attending the best Healing school in the world, had forged a bond that would never have existed had they stayed in Britain. Fending off press was a much easier task in another country that had not felt the extent of the Dark Lord's reach.
At the conclusion of their studies and while still in their lime green graduation Healer's robes, they argued for hours over their choices of Masteries after school. She had been dead-set on Arithmancy and wanted to drag him along. He had wanted nothing to do with it, wanting to focus more on Potions for the now obvious reasons. Severus was right; she was usually in a snit over something.
Draco's eyebrows knit together but he kept his lips from pursing. His mother had schooled many of those feature-detracting habits out of him. Hermione's steadfastness had nearly convinced him to join her for Arithmancy training in Russia, but his responsibilities to his parents who were on house arrest and also fighting a yet unknown curse tipped the scales.
Who was he kidding; the curse was still an overall enigma to them.
"Beneath the Glamours, of which I count seven, she shows signs of fatigue and dehydration. Hermione was eating and sleeping just enough to function before this warding."
Severus nodded his assent as he joined Draco on her side of the basin. With a wave of his hand, he managed to slow the memory down by half. "Her posture is impeccable and she is not moving abnormally, no sign of recent convulsions or Cruciatus like symptoms. However, she is being very careful with her left arm and at this proximity it is apparent she has extra bindings below the sleeves as her left arm appears marginally larger. These are typical symptoms and reactions, so the answer is not here."
"There's no chance of diagnostics?" Draco knew the answer but wanted to hear Severus confirm it.
"If you attempt to cast any spell while within this Pensieve I will truss you up by your bollocks and make you brew a new one while dangling," Severus said in a light tone that did not match the bile of his words. "Use your fucking eyes and that lauded Healer designation, insolent boy. You should know better than to rely on your magic for everything."
For how stoic and focused his godfather had been over the last few weeks as more and more of their tests failed, it was almost pleasant to hear this fuming side of his mentor. He had been steadily reverting into what could only be described as sullenness.
"Minverva has sent the first signal. I'll monitor her charms work again."
Severus didn't say anything to that but stopped his pacing and began to stare at the pair of Gryffindors in earnest. With another wave of his hand the Pensieve went back to normal speed. Just as it had the previous visits, Hermione and Potter performed the incantation to allow their basin to begin gently feeding on their magic and the top floated away from the stand. It looked very similar to a Pensieve. By the time they had finished chanting the mindless drivel they all had been charged with, Potter had lit the basin. Draco braced himself for what happened next.
Since it was Hermione's memory they were visiting, the world around them started to blink in and out of existence as her physical body began to tremble. Her eyes rolled back into her head briefly as she had a standing seizure. As quickly as the seizure began, her eyes rolled back to their normal position but all traces of brown had left them as the pupils dilated to their extreme. For a brief moment she seemed to cave in on herself with hunched shoulders and her hands clutching at the front of her robes. The next instant, her arms were thrown wide and an invisible burst of magical energy threw itself from her, flattening the grass near her as well as the people.
The images seemed so jerky since they were thrown into total blackness in a staccato pattern as she repeated the symptoms of a standing seizure, to ripping at her robes to letting off thunderous bursts of energy. The world also seemed to spin around them.
"Enough!" Severus bellowed as he paused the memory at a part where she was collapsed into herself.
Draco held his head gingerly as he leaned down to look at her face where it was frozen in an expressionless mask, drawn gauntly around her features. "The first blast acted as a Finite. All the Glamours are cancelled."
He looked more intently into her eyes as Severus examined the three others who were nearest to her, dazed and obviously half-knocked out from their proximity to the shockwaves. At this distance, and from their other vantage point of viewing the memories without the flashes of light and darkness and the cacophony of colors via Potter's memory, it was easier to see the tendrils of visible magic in the air around them. Each position in the warding had their own charm trails around them since they had exposed a part of their magical core, a bit of their soul, essentially. In his own memory, he and Severus had been surrounded by grays and silvers. The color around each person could only be seen when viewed the exact right way, just like a prism through a crystal goblet. Draco finally was able to get close enough to the Gryffindors to see theirs.
Potter was predictably surrounded by a residual gold, nearly amber, color. Fucking Gryffindor.
Hermione's made his brow furrow despite his mother's extensive training against it. Hers was a deep gray around her body, but it seemed to be avoiding her left arm like oil to water…
"Severus."
His mentor stopped his examination of the reporters and kneeled down to match Draco's view of Hermione's face. With the Pensieve paused it did not take long for him to see what distressed Draco. He reached his long pale fingers out to that empty space near her cursed scar.
"She's rejecting it, Severus. Why is her core eating itself alive to stop the warding if the magic she is weaving is benign?" He hated the one side theory conversations he usually had but today he was rewarded with an answer.
A sharp intake of breath preceded, "Fucking hell…the benign nature of the magic we wove yesterday is exactly the problem. The curse is feeding off of her core to backlash against the protective spells."
Since it was almost impossible for him to pale, Draco's features tinged green instead. He voiced the obvious question of, "Why didn't it do the same to us?"
"The answer to that could mean the cure for Miss Granger."