Chapter 12 - In Remembrance

Hermione was thankful to arrive back at Hogwarts, a shrunken bag in the pocket of her robes, without having to endure a lecture from Professor McGonagall. It was clear that the older woman was less than pleased with her, and Hermione assumed she'd been told of her continued procrastination. It didn't feel very good to know that her one-time Head of House was disappointed in her, but she didn't have the emotional capacity to think on it. Instead, she gazed around her at the familiar portraits as they made their way silently to the Hospital Ward.

Madam Pomfrey was as busy as usual, and a neat cot had been made up for her apart from the others, and with a particularly heavy curtain, as she would be staying more than just a day. She felt a bit patronized as the motherly woman fussed her into her nightclothes, and into bed. "The Headmaster expects you to get lots of rest tonight, Miss Granger, as tomorrow is sure to be a trying day for you."

"Yes, Ma'am," she replied meekly. She was a little dumbfounded about the whole thing. She'd been expecting to have her memory reinstated immediately, since they'd taken the trouble to shepherd her here early. But it occurred to her finally that Dumbledore probably thought she'd bolt, so he'd asked McGonagall to ambush her at Harry's party. She found herself more than a little annoyed at his tactics, but didn't voice it. Instead, she lay quietly in bed until the lights were doused, and tried futilely to fall asleep.

By the time the sunlight was creeping across the lawn outside, Hermione, with all of five hours of rest behind her, was fully awake. Madam Pomfrey, who always seemed to I know /I these things, allowed her time to dress before bringing a breakfast tray. Her cheerful chatter was distracting at best, but Hermione tried to be polite in spite of her nervousness. She finished her food, and was just draining the last of her pumpkin juice when Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape entered the ward, looking grim. Hermione took a deep breath and set her tray aside.

"Well, Miss Granger, I hope you slept well," the Headmaster began. Hermione thought he looked rather shifty – his eyes were dull and his face somber. She had rarely seen him that way. She glanced quickly from the Pensieve he was carrying to the other Professors, whose faces she could not read so easily. Severus nodded at her, and she smiled a slight smile in return. This seemed to please Dumbledore, as he chose that moment to continue. He placed the bowl on her table, banishing her tray back to the kitchens as he did so.

"I have brought the memory with me. You will, naturally, not recall the procedure for reinstating it, as that was explained to you before it was removed. I shall explain again." There was a brief pause, and Hermione kept her eyes firmly averted from the Pensieve, focusing instead on the Headmaster's bushy gray eyebrows.

"Your memory was not removed the way short memories generally are, with an unspoken incantation and simple wand movement. To remove it in that way would only allow it to be stored for a short time. As we didn't know how long the war might progress, and due to the sheer volume of information the memory contained, a more permanent measure was required. You entered the Pensieve alone, and, using the incantation I taught you, etched the memory into the interior of the bowl. If you look into it now, you can see the etchings."

When Hermione made no move to look toward the bowl, Dumbledore continued, sounding rather more weary than before. "To reclaim the memory, you will need, once again, to enter the Pensieve alone. It was for this purpose that the device was originally created. Upon your entrance, the spell will reverse itself automatically, as it was designed to do. You will only be in there a brief moment before the Pensieve will eject you and destroy itself, having fulfilled its intended purpose. Do you understand?"

At his final question, Hermione's eyes snapped downward a tad, and met his own. What a ridiculous question! Was she two years old? Of COURSE she understood. But she reigned in her annoyance. The old man was only trying to help.

"I understand," she replied. Professor McGonagall placed the bowl in her lap, and Hermione cast a last glance at each of them. She resisted the odd urge to say goodbye. She'd be back out of the thing in only an instant, after all. But – but she wouldn't be the same Hermione that was going INTO it. She shook her head and smiled vaguely at her own folly. "Here goes," she whispered. And she bent over the bowl.

To the eyes of those around her, nothing appeared to change for an instant. Then her head flew back into the pillows, and the bowl rose from her unresisting hands. It spun in the air thrice before exploding in a shower of blue sparks. Hermione had not moved, and her eyes were squeezed tightly shut.

As the pillows had been arranged to allow her to sit against them, the Professors could see her face clearly. She was grimacing, more in anticipation than due to any pain.

Quietly, Professor Dumbledore began to explain. "Over the next four hours, you will relive the eight days you spent as a captive, as well as the two days before your memory was removed. It might be even more traumatic than the initial experience, both because of the fast pace, as well as an alarming feeling of déjà vu." He stopped there, as it didn't appear that she was listening. Madam Pomfrey, who'd appeared when the Pensieve exploded, bustled past him to the bed and did a few quick tests.

"She's awake, Albus," she assured him, before moving nervously away again, back to her office to finish the list of supplies she needed for the upcoming school year. This was not the sort of ailment with which she had any experience.

Fifteen minutes passed, during which Hermione did not move. Her eyes remained closed, and her face scrunched in anticipation of pain. Severus pulled up a chair for himself and one for McGonagall as well. The Headmaster, upon seeing that he was the only one still standing, conjured his own.

All three were startled when Hermione grunted abruptly and a dark, evil looking bruise began to appear over the left side of her jaw. Then she whimpered and brought her knees up a moment later, as though a blow to the stomach had caused her to double up. Dumbledore exchanged a concerned glance with his deputy Headmistress before calling for Madam Pomfrey, who came running.

However, long before the portly woman had even started out from behind her desk, Severus was on his feet and beside the bed. He took Hermione's face in his hand roughly. His thumb dug into the newly developing bruise, and Professor McGonagall snapped, "Severus, what are you doing!"

"Open your eyes, Hermione," he demanded, purposely using the dangerous classroom voice he had always saved for Neville Longbottom. Her eyes popped open at once.

"Your mind is recreating your injuries as if you are truly reliving the experience. You cannot allow it. Find something in this room to focus on." His insistent voice caused her to look up at him. She nodded briefly in understanding, then pushed herself further up on the bed as he released her. Striding past his astounded colleagues, he resumed his seat. "Can you still see the room, Hermione?" he asked, his voice somewhat less harsh.

"Yes," she whispered. "Barely. But Avery is gone now. He …"

"It's alright. When he leaves you alone, you can talk to us," Madam Pomfrey assured her. Severus glared at her briefly, and she realized that she'd cut off whatever Hermione had been about to say. He wanted to drag her by her elbow back into her office and explain to her that NO, it was NOT I alright /I , but he didn't want to leave Hermione in case something else happened. It was only a moment before something did.

Her features relaxed, and she leaned back into the bed, this time keeping her eyes open. But her legs unfolded, and she looked for all the world as if she was bored and contemplating the ceiling. Severus allowed himself to relax as well.

In truth, she was neither bored nor contemplative. A half an hour had passed, and she'd just remembered most of her first day in captivity, a day which had been far more trying than she'd led the others to believe. She knew what she'd told Dumbledore about her experiences, because he had told it back to her after her memory had been removed. He hadn't mentioned even the half of it. Clearly she had kept a great deal from him.

After Avery's brutal self-introduction, Hermione had curled herself into a small ball. She'd been given no bedding, so she was on the tile floor, bleeding and trying not to cry. It was then that the other man had come in.

He'd not bothered to knock, but had walked through the door as if sure of his welcome. She had watched through half-closed eyes as he set several objects on the floor and transfigured them into a small cot, a blanket, and a pillow, respectively.

Her quick mind wondered if the door had been locked behind him, but just as quickly she admitted to herself that she couldn't make a break for it. She didn't much care that her clothes were gone, but she wasn't sure she could make her legs move so soon after….that.

When the man turned toward her, she gasped. "Dolohov," she spat angrily, recognizing his bright hazel eyes. He seemed startled.

"And how, exactly, do you know my name?" he asked. She noticed that his voice was more surprised than angry, but the knowledge didn't change her tone.

"I heard your mates calling to you in the Department of Mysteries. The Prophet didn't bother reporting that you'd escaped from Azkaban." She filled her voice with all the venom she could muster, which was quite a lot, after what she'd just been through.

He chose to ignore her malicious words. Obviously she remembered him just fine. Another obstacle to overcome. He had known it wouldn't be easy. "I see you've met Avery. Not very friendly, that one. Just once, I wish they'd let me try first," he lamented, his eyes traveling the length of her. He paused. "Well, let's get you cleaned up."

"Don't touch me!" Hermione exclaimed, trying to scoot away from him across the floor, while still keeping her arms crossed in front of her chest.

"Would you prefer to continue bleeding? Or - I can stop it from here, if you'd rather." His offer was made quietly.

Hermione looked at him appraisingly. "Why are you offering to help me?"

There was a moment's hesitation in the man's eyes then. Quickly, he decided to do as Lucius had instructed, against his better judgement. "I'm not going to insult your renowned intelligence. I'm going to help you because that is my part in this comedy of horrors. What is it you Mud—ggles like to say? We're playing 'Good Cop, Bad Cop,' and I am the Good Cop. And you're going to let me help you because I have a wand, and you don't really have any choice."

Hermione considered this for all of three seconds. "Right. Well, then do whatever you're going to do and get out."

It wasn't long before her bruises were healing, and her legs felt a bit stronger. She stood as he lowered his wand. They looked at each other in silence. Then Hermione spoke again. "I want to sit on the bed. Go over there." She pointed across the room, to the door. He went, slowly, and at the same pace she shuffled toward the bed. As she lowered herself gingerly onto it, Dolohov pocketed his wand. "I don't suppose your generosity extends to clothing?" she inquired haughtily, pulling the blanket up over herself.

If he could tell that it was a cover for her approaching hysteria, he didn't show it. "Sadly, no. I've specific orders on that. Is there anything else you might like?"

"A waste bin," Hermione answered immediately. He wordlessly conjured it next to her bed. "How about a wand to clean it out with after I vomit?" she could hear her voice starting to break, and feel the bile rising in her throat, but she didn't want to show any weakness before the enemy. Looking up, she realized that it didn't matter. He was already gone. She had just enough time to try the locked door before she had to dash back to the bed, retching violently.


The Professors took it in shift to sit with Hermione throughout the four allotted hours. Severus had been volunteered for the first watch, as it was he who'd headed off her imagination before it could physically damage her as the initial experience had done. He watched carefully as her features vacillated between abject terror, and something like tenderness.

Once again Avery had left her, this time held to the wall obscenely by invisible bonds. It was the third day of her captivity, and her resolve was weakening. She had not yet shed tears, but she could feel them, now, stinging her eyes. She concentrated on that, rather than the trickle of blood down her right leg.

She was impatiently counting her breaths. Two thousand three, four, five. Two thousand six. The door opened, and Dolohov appeared, with what she told herself was a false look of sympathy. It didn't matter, though. She had finally reached the point where she would take whatever sympathy she could get.

He released her from the wall with a flick of his wand, and caught her as her knees buckled. It was the first time he'd dared touch her, but she didn't protest. She couldn't have if she'd wanted to, because her jaw was broken, and she didn't want to risk moving it until he healed it. She knew he would, and she wasn't disappointed.

He massaged some kind of ointment into her wrists, which immediately stopped aching. It occurred to her that he must have known she'd give him this much liberty today, or he wouldn't have the damned ointment. But it didn't matter. She needed a friend, even an untrue one. It wasn't as if she was going to tell him anything. And furthermore he'd never asked.

At this thought, she sobbed unexpectedly. Dolohov looked up at her, apparently worried. That just made her begin to cry in earnest. She searched his face for any sign of a victorious smirk, but found none. He didn't speak, but she did. "He didn't even question me this time!" Her agonized whisper seemed to mobilize him. He perched himself on the bed, pulling her down with him.

It didn't even occur to her to be frightened as he wrapped his arms around her. He let her cry against his chest for quite some time. Finally he spoke, as gently as he could. "What does he usually ask you?"

Warning bells went off in Hermione's head. This was forbidden ground. To cover, she cried harder. It wasn't as if she had to pretend, or fake it, after all. No one had more reason to cry than she did.

She cried herself to sleep and Dolohov slipped out of the room quietly to have a word with Avery. If he was TOO harsh with the girl, neither of them would get any information from her at all.


Severus stood at the end of his hour with Hermione. Professor McGonagall would be arriving any moment. He walked to the side of Hermione's bed and turned her head to face him. Her eyes were still open. He hadn't even needed to remind her.

"Hermione, can you hear me?" She blinked, almost as though she was shifting her vision between the world unfolding before her mind, and the one her eyes were actually viewing.

"Yes," she gritted. A wave of nausea passed over her. He didn't dare ask, from the expression on her face, and the way her hands were clutching the bed sheets, what she was currently experiencing. "I will be leaving, and Professor McGonagall will be arriving momentarily. Someone will always be with you. You won't be left alone."

Hermione closed her eyes and nodded.

"Keep your eyes open," he snapped. She complied, but not before a tear squeezed out from under an eyelid.

A hand on his shoulder told him that Minerva had arrived. He left without another word, and Hermione focused again on the line where the wall met the ceiling. Her new guardian, instructed to silence by the Headmaster, seated herself to begin one of the longest hours she would ever spend.