Chapter 14 – Fall Out

Severus watched Hermione as carefully as Albus had done. He knew the time of her escape must be near. It would be a simple matter, following that, of remembering her time in the hospital wing, and the decision to remove the memory. Minerva, Albus, and Poppy were seated around him, and he fully intended to make a get-away as soon as he was sure that the worst was over. He knew better than anyone what she'd lived through, and he didn't believe for a minute that she would be pleased to find a Death Eater in the room with her when she was fully coherent again.


Dolohov had just begun a quiet conversation with the woman he now considered to be his personal pet Mudblood when a horrendous crash was heard outside the room. As that was the first noise from beyond the door that Hermione had ever heard, she couldn't help but look a bit shocked.

Dolohov, his back to the door, rolled over and began to sit up. But the door flew open before he could stand, and an incensed Avery appeared. He didn't even draw his wand, but instead launched himself at Dolohov, meaty hands first.

The ensuing battle was watched by a shocked Hermione, and by a calmly calculating Lucius Malfoy, who stood in the open doorway. They exchanged a glance as Dolohov's nose broke with an audible crack, and Hermione cringed at the sound and looked away. She made no move to help him, however. If she was very lucky, he'd run and Avery would chase him. Perhaps she could get away without having to endure Avery again.

She pulled her feet up on the cot as another of Avery's crushing punches rolled Dolohov in her direction. For an instant she met his eyes, and was surprised to see panic there. This hadn't been in the plan, she supposed.

It occurred to her that it might seem suspicious if she didn't at least try to acquire Dolohov's wand, which had been poking out from the pile of clothing at the foot of the cot. She cast a look in that direction, but it was gone. She noticed it a moment later, clutched in Malfoy's fist. He smirked wickedly and nodded at her when he noticed her looking at him. She looked away.

When Dolohov failed to get up after Avery knocked his head against the wall, Malfoy intervened. "Enough!" he spat angrily. He glared Avery into submission, then mobilized Dolohov's limp body, knocking his head against the doorframe and following him out. For a brief moment, Hermione was convinced that Avery would follow. Another instant and she would be free.

But it wasn't to be. Instead, Avery grabbed the pile of Dolohov's clothes and chucked them out the door before slamming it closed. The evil look in his eye was enough to make Hermione begin to shudder uncontrollably. He grasped her by her upper arms and shook.

"I am going to break every bone in your body until you tell me what I want to know," he declared, almost gleefully. He gave her no chance to answer before breaking her wrists: both of them, at once.

Hermione told herself she could endure it once more – just once more and she would be free. She was repeating the phrase, "Once more," when she arrived in Diagon Alley, hours later. The last thing she remembered thinking before waking in the hospital ward was that Harry and Ron would be certain to find her at the Quidditch supply store.

Hermione blinked rapidly when, half an hour later, the memories finally came to a halt. She was still shaking from the memory of her final encounter with Avery, though two more days had passed in her mind since then. Her eyes finally focused, and she sat up gingerly, as if expecting to be injured. When she realized that Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall, as well as Madam Pomfrey, were staring at her, she swallowed hard.

"It's finished," she whispered. Instantly Poppy was out of her chair, wand in hand, to examine her for any signs of mentally inflicted re-injury. She fussed and fretted, assuring Hermione that everything would be alright. As if anything could ever be alright again.


Six days of Poppy's fretting were quite enough for most patients, but Hermione didn't appear to have any will to leave. She was still wearing pajamas, though they were at least a different pair than the ones she'd endured the memory in. Those she had surreptitiously incinerated during a rare moment alone.

Owls had arrived. First Pig, then Hedwig, and finally Hermes had arrived on her bed. The letters they brought were sitting under the pitcher of water on the stand beside her bed, unopened. Pig and Hermes had left again immediately, but Hedwig was still at the foot of her bed, his head under a wing, but clearly not leaving until the letter had been read. Hermione couldn't bring herself to care.

Professor Dumbledore had been kind during his daily visit that morning, but she could see his worry. It was clear that he thought she was in shock, though Madam Pomfrey could find no physical evidence to support that belief. Professor McGonagall had also come daily to see her. Her motherly efforts, however, only served to remind Hermione that she would shortly have to explain all of this to her own mother. It was sure to be an uncomfortable discussion.

Another week passed, and another owl arrived. Hedwig finally flew off, after looking at her reproachfully for an entire evening. The new owl, which Hermione didn't recognize, didn't stay, but dropped a letter addressed in her mother's hand into her lap. She thanked the owl, and waited until he'd flown out the window before placing the envelope under the water pitcher with the others.

Still, Hermione sat in bed, her eyes most often focused on the point where the wall met the ceiling. The clothes she'd been anxious to bring along were forgotten, and she now wore hospital garb. It hardly mattered, as she hadn't left her bed for anything but the lavatory in several days. Madam Pomfrey had, for the second time, failed to bring her any dreamless sleep potion with her dinner. She didn't rightly know how she'd be able to stand to close her eyes without it, but she figured she'd try. When she woke up the whole castle with her screams, they'd give her more, just like they had done last week.

At one point, while she was sleeping, she supposed, someone had brought her a book. Once in a while she glanced at it, but she couldn't bring herself to lift it from the table, though it was one she hadn't read before.

After two weeks of near-seclusion, she heard a commotion in the hallway, and closed her eyes, knowing what was most likely occurring. Immediately following the reinstating of her memory, she had requested of the Headmaster that Harry and Ron not be permitted to disturb her until she was prepared to deal with their questions. She listened to the argument the boys were having with Madam Pomfrey and frowned to herself. They'd stayed away a good long while, considering that they'd usually sat by her bedside for hours at a time when she was injured during school. But her over-active brain had not yet come up with enough lies to explain away her pain. And until she knew what she would say to them, she didn't want to see them, or anyone else for that matter.

None of her erstwhile Professors had questioned her on the matter of her captivity. It was clear to them from her reclusive manner that she had no wish to explain. As a result, she tolerated their visits, even though they often made her feel like a small child recovering from the mumps.

She spent her time thinking. Mostly her thoughts revolved around Dolohov. Her experience with him, much more than anything Avery had done to her, was forcing her to reevaluate her self-image. The image that was emerging was, to her mind, something of a travesty. What kind of woman willingly gave herself to her torturer? What kind of woman could enjoy anything in such a situation? Hermione had been raised well. Clever and bright, she had scored well in every class she'd undertaken. Kind and with a gentle nature, she'd made friends with everyone who'd ever bothered to truly get to know her. Confident and brave, she'd lived through a magical war that had claimed the lives of many.

But giving herself to Dolohov had not been the doing of a clever, kind or confident woman. And if she was no longer any of those things, what was she, exactly?


Following the altercation in the hallway outside the hospital ward, Madam Pomfrey did something she had never imagined she would have to do. She warded the door from the inside.

Harry and Ron turned to one another after she'd left them. Ron shrugged, and offered the best consolation he could. "She'll come to us when she's ready, mate."

Harry, however, did not take such an optimistic view. "This is my fault," he whispered, predictably. "They would never have taken her if she hadn't been such a good friend to me."

Privately, Ron knew this to be true. That was, after all, the reason he'd been abducted as well. But he hadn't told Harry about that, and he wasn't about to now. "Don't be that way, Harry. She was top of our class, and Muggle-born. They would have targeted her no matter what."

They began the long journey downstairs to exit the castle, but when they reached the large front doors, Harry stopped. "You go ahead. I'm going to stop and see Severus for a minute."

"Alright, mate, but I don't imagine he'll improve your mood much," Ron joked feebly. Harry snorted and shook his head.

"No, I don't suppose he will. But he might be more willing to talk than Madam Pomfrey was."

Ron nodded and patted Harry on the shoulder before starting the walk down to Hogsmeade. He'd come to terms with Harry's friendship with their one-time Professor, more because of the strategic advantage it had afforded them during the war than for any other reason. Still, Harry's logic was sound. Maybe Snape would be able to tell him something about Hermione. Any small bit of information would be better than what they'd gotten from Madam Pomfrey.


The knock on the door was startling, and Severus scowled. He was not expecting anyone, and if it was the Headmaster come to update him on Hermione's lack of progress again, he was going to toss the old goat out on his pointed hat.

He'd avoided the hospital wing with a vengeance these last weeks, having heard from his colleagues that she didn't seem to be recovering as expected. Dumbledore had quizzed him about his obvious concern, and he'd replied, in a rare moment of honesty, that he'd begun to think of her as a friend. As the old man knew about his friendship with Harry, he had not inquired further. After weeks of solitude to reflect on his own behavior, however, Severus was wondering just how honest he'd truly been with the Headmaster. Would he have paced the hospital wing corridor, without going inside until necessary, had it been Harry in her place?

Rather than snapping at the knocker to enter, Severus pushed himself up from his desk and went to open the door. This was not the time of year when his antagonist might be a student, after all, and the rest of the staff expected a certain level of tolerance from him during the summer.

Harry came through the door with no words of greeting at all, and Severus could tell immediately that he knew everything Weasley knew about Hermione's current troubles. He closed the door carefully and warded it as he watched Harry casually take possession of his usual chair. Funny how he'd come to think of one of his chairs as Harry's and the other as Draco's. It crossed his mind that if they were ever both in the room, he, himself, would have no place to sit. He stifled the thought, and went back to his desk to finish the article he'd been skimming before the interruption. It was several minutes before Harry spoke.

"She's not reading our letters, and Madam Pomfrey won't let us in to see her," he said quietly. Severus marveled again at how far Harry had come. He was not pouting, but he was clearly distressed.

"I imagine Miss Granger has quite a lot to deal with right now. When she has finished coming to terms with her experiences, she will be ready to move ahead with her life." He kept his voice even. He'd known this day would come since the decision had been made to suppress Hermione's memory, and he knew what he would say. It wasn't going to be pretty.

There was silence between them, as Harry stared at the empty grate of the fireplace. "Ron tells me she wasn't targeted because of me. He seems to think I'm arrogant for even contemplating the idea." At this, Harry turned slightly in his chair and smirked. "But Ron's not telling me something, and his act doesn't ring true."

Severus looked up from the article. "Gryfindors are notoriously bad liars," was his only comment. He looked back down.

"What do you think?" Harry asked quietly. He didn't even marvel over the fact that he'd come to value Severus' opinion. It was only to be expected, after all the man had taught him.

Once again Severus ran over his plan in his head. If he chose to go through with it, there would be no turning back after this response. Once again, he decided it was probably the only way Harry would ever get passed this. He looked up and stared hard into Harry's green eyes. "I do not think Miss Granger would have been abducted had she not been your best mate."

Harry felt for a moment as if he'd been slapped. He narrowed his eyes instinctively, ready to defend himself, and then found he had no defense. Severus was right. His shoulders slumped, and he turned around in his chair again, avoiding eye contact.

Years ago, he would have railed against Severus for such a statement, uttered without feeling, and seemingly without regard for Harry's feelings. But things had changed. HE had changed, and he imagined Severus had too. Years ago, the older man would simply have written off his claim as arrogance, as Ron had tried to do, and made him feel worthless. This, though – this honesty – he could deal with.

For his part, Severus was impressed with Harry's restraint. He waited patiently while Harry thought.

And Harry did think. He thought hard about his feelings of guilt over Hermione's situation. He thought about his rather under-handed attempt to make a match between her and Severus. And he thought about whether or not that was still a good idea, after all that he'd just learned.

Finally, Severus spoke again. Weasley had had an opportunity to tell Harry the entire truth and had clearly passed it up. Severus didn't want to go through this again next year, or whenever the whole story came out, so he resigned himself to finishing it now. "Mr. Weasley was also taken captive that summer. He was more fortunate than Hermione, in that I was made aware of his location. He suffered rather less than she did, I believe, but his experience is not to be made light of. He also was questioned intensely as to your weaknesses, and the plans of the Order."

Harry had turned to stare at him, wide-eyed, at this pronouncement. He was surprised, but not shocked. It had seemed to him that Ron was being a bit shifty, and he'd assumed that there was more to the story. He'd been right. What did surprise him about that little speech was Severus' use of Hermione's first name. Perhaps he should not completely table his plans after all.

"Thank you for telling me," he said solemnly. He would speak to Ron right away. In the meantime - "Can you get in to see her?" He was careful with his wording and tone. He had a lot to deal with, but he would go home and manage his thoughts there. He had Ginny, now, to help him. Even as the guilt threatened to overwhelm him, he kept his mind focused. Severus wouldn't appreciate a weepy Gryfindor crying all over his nice chair.

Severus looked puzzled for a brief moment. He knew whom Harry was talking about, of course, but he could hardly believe that the storm he'd prepared for wasn't coming. Harry looked discomfited, naturally, but no more so than when he'd finished his Potions N.E.W.T. He wouldn't find this suspicious until much later. At the moment, he simply nodded.

"Will you tell her – tell her she doesn't have to tell Ron and me anything about what happened. But we're here for her. Tell her that?"

Severus thought this was a very thoughtful message and agreed. Harry didn't quite smile as he stood to leave. "Thanks." He let himself out and Severus was left wondering what he had done to deserve this particular errand. He admitted to himself that he'd like to check in on the girl, but didn't know how she would take his presence. Would she scream when he appeared? He remembered the way she'd squeezed his hand. He thought not. But she'd barely spoken to anyone since the memories had ceased. He decided he'd better have a very good reason to be in the hospital ward, and set aside his article to begin brewing.