Chapter 15 - Recovery

Madam Pomfrey had been a gifted Potions student when she and Severus attended school together. Only two years ahead of him, they had always maintained a mutual respect for one another. Consequently, Madam Pomfrey brewed most of her own potions for the hospital wing. There were some few, however, that were beyond her capacity. Skele-grow was one, which is why she purchased it from the Apothecary in Diagon Alley each summer.

For Severus Snape to arrive in the hospital wing with a supply of something as easily prepared as the Dreamless Sleep draught would have seemed quite odd, had it not been for the quantities of it currently being consumed by the only patient. He told himself she'd never suspect.

He strode into the room with his customary dispatch, taking the tray directly into the storeroom, right passed Hermione's bed, and proceeded to place the bottled potion on the admittedly bare shelves. Hermione watched him with the most interest she'd been able to muster in anything since her memory was restored. There was something she'd been meaning to ask him, and she'd thought about it a great deal in her seclusion.

When he'd finished and turned back toward her, closing the storeroom door behind him, she spoke. "You know it all, don't you?" she asked quietly.

Severus had been about to speak and was rather startled to be addressed first. He leaned the tray against the wall and approached her bed, unaware of the pain his eyes seemed to communicate. He nodded sharply once, a wary expression overtaking his features. He knew she'd left out a good bit from her explanation to the others. He didn't know how she'd react to his knowledge of the complete story.

Hermione looked down at the sheets and swallowed hard. "That's why you were so kind, then?" she asked, in the same agonized whisper. There was silence for an instant before she looked up at him sharply. "Pity," she spat, making it an answer rather than a question.

Severus narrowed his eyes. "Respect," he shot back at once. "Pity is for the weak."

"I was weak," she admitted, reverting to her whisper at once, though not chastised in the slightest. A twisted, self-deprecating smile appeared on her lips as she lowered her eyes to the bed sheets again.

"You took what you needed from Dolohov and gave him nothing in return. Loyal Hufflepuffs twice your age have done worse."

Hermione met his eyes, pondering that statement. She remembered clearly how Remus Lupin had met his end. Hestia Jones had been caught and tortured for information, then killed. She remembered, too, how disappointed she'd been in Jones for giving the Death Eaters information. Now that she knew what the woman had endured, however, she was not so quick to pass judgement.

"Harry and Ron will never understand."

Severus had watched as comprehension came over her face. Her mind was as quick as ever, and she'd equated Jones' torture with her own almost at once. The two women's abductions had been eerily similar, though Hermione had certainly been the stronger. Dolohov had been beside himself as he told Severus the stories. He'd come away with nothing more than an excellent reason for the Dark Lord's wrath. And he had certainly received the Dark Lord's wrath.

"I don't imagine they need to," he answered finally. "Harry doesn't want details. He just wants you know he is there if you need him." If it had registered with Severus that he was staring hard into Hermione's eyes, he would likely have looked away. The intensity of the conversation had him distracted, however, and he didn't. Neither did she.

Hermione bypassed the matter of her friends as if they'd not spoken of it at all. "Dolohov told you?" Her tone was somewhat lighter.

"Indeed. He was supremely frustrated, as was Avery, at their inability to break you. Only Slytherins have ever managed such a coup on their interrogators in my previous experience." The corners of his mouth turned up inadvertently, and Hermione realized at once that he was complimenting her, in his own way.

She allowed herself a small smile. It didn't reach her eyes, but Severus thought it was a step in the right direction. They said quiet goodbyes, and Severus began the walk back to the dungeons. He had delivered Harry's message, and perhaps given Hermione some reassurance that she had nothing about which to be ashamed. As he was the only one who knew of her capitulation with Dolohov, he was the only one who could truly have provided her that. He hoped it did her some good.

When the door swung shut behind him, Hermione turned her eyes to the ceiling once again. Perhaps an hour passed as she thought long and hard about that conversation. Not long afterwards, however, Hermione sighed and focused her eyes on the pile of letters which was unbalancing her water pitcher. With another self-deprecating smile, she lifted her wand and summoned her overnight bag out from under her bed. I>"Pack," /I> she intoned quietly. When everything that was hers had neatly folded itself into her suitcase, she chose the outfit she'd worn to Harry's birthday party, and took it with her into the lavatory.

She emerged a few moments later, clothed for the first time in several weeks. After a brief look around, she picked up her bag and walked out of the ward, down the steps and out the door into the morning sunshine. Unbidden, another smile graced her lips. She'd not been in the sun for so long. She strode purposely down the hill to Hogsmeade, and Disapparated at the gate. From an upstairs window, Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall watched her go, exchanging disbelieving looks, followed by tentative smiles.


Hermione settled herself into her flat in a bit more haphazard a fashion than usual, throwing her overnight bag onto the floor by the couch, and summoning a butterbeer from the Muggle refrigerator. She looked around. The place was filthy and her cat was missing. She assumed Harry or Ron had taken him to keep an eye on him. Not that he needed it. She could swear he got into the cat food without any help while she was studying. But he never made any noise at it, so she had no proof.

She parked herself at the little table in the kitchenette, thumping down the collection of letters that had grown substantially during her stay in the hospital wing. She read all the ones from her parents first. Then she applied herself to the task of giving them enough information to forestall their questions until such time as she could visit in person and answer them all.

To Harry and Ron, though, she wrote the truth. Tears streamed down her face as she described the entire situation in as much detail as she could stand. At the end of her written remembrances, she wrote the following:

Harry,
It is inevitable that you will feel guilt for what happened to me. You have such a kind heart that you aren't capable of ignoring what you see as your fault. But you should know that no one – not myself, nor anyone else – will ever blame you. And you should know that to ensure the defeat of Voldemort, I would do it all again, just as it was done the first time.

Ron,
You have been such a good friend to me through this time, though your methods were a bit unorthodox. But that showed you cared, and I clung to that as I remembered, as much as to anything. Thank you for all you have done.

I hope you will both understand that I do not want ever to discuss this again. I don't intend to ignore it. I don't intend to run from it. But it is intensely personal to me, and now that I have explained it all to you both, I don't feel that any discussion could be beneficial. It will only make it hurt the more. Put aside your guilt, Harry, and your need to heal me, Ron. Life will go on, and so will we.

Let's get together for lunch at Fortescue's on Saturday.

Yours,

Hermione

As she rolled the parchment, tear tracks drying on her face, and tightening her cheeks, she felt cleansed. It was as though the writing of it had removed it from her once again. She was writing of something that had happened almost two years ago. It was time to move on. She broke out another butterbeer and made a start on her correspondence work. Even after all this time, she found she wasn't behind. But she wasn't ahead anymore either. She quickly set to work.


Severus was informed of her abrupt departure the following morning at breakfast. It seemed the rest of the staff was a bit concerned, as they didn't know what could have finally provoked a response from her. He offered no explanation, and no one thought to ask him. If he was at all disappointed that she'd not spoken to him again before leaving, he chalked it up to fatigue. That night he slept better than he had in weeks.

He ran into Harry quite by accident the following October, in Diagon Alley. Normally he had no difficulty in stocking his storeroom twice each year: once during the summer, and once during the Christmas Holiday. This year, however, an unforeseen upturn in melted cauldrons and wasted ingredients had caught him by surprise. He was entirely out of several items, and had, thus, taken advantage of a detention-free Saturday to procure replacements.

It wasn't unusual for the two to see one another infrequently. What was unusual was how pleased Harry seemed to be. Severus had always supposed that his own demeanor had rubbed off on the young man somewhat, as he tended to be reserved in his greetings, and quiet in his speech for the most part – at least in Severus' presence. Today that was not the case. If it hadn't been before noon, Severus would have suspected that alcohol was involved.

"Professor!" Harry shouted, catching sight of him from several stores away. Severus supposed he should be grateful for the honorary, but didn't think he could manage to show it.

"Mr. Potter," he acknowledged, as soon as Harry was close enough that he didn't have to shout. They shook hands with a warmth that gave the lie to Severus' tone, or would have, had anyone been paying attention. They weren't.

"How've you been?"

Severus sighed. This was the one thing that bothered him about Gryffindors: polite inanities. "None the worse for wear," he muttered. He wished he could ask after Hermione. He'd not heard from her or of her since she had left the castle, just before term. Yet somehow he didn't feel comfortable asking Harry about her. He was saved the trouble.

"Hermione's doing great. Thanks for giving her my message. I don't think it helped much, but it gave you a chance to say something that really mattered to her, and THAT made all the difference." Harry modulated his tone carefully between gratitude and exuberance. He was truly pleased at Hermione's state of mind lately, but he also wanted Severus to realize that it had been his words that had brought closure for her.

Severus had no idea how to respond to this without mentioning that he'd known more about the situation than Harry had. Again, Harry, in his obvious good humor, solved the situation for him.

"I'm really glad you knew everything that happened. If no one had known, she wouldn't have been able to accept comfort from anywhere." His voice had dropped a bit. He had no intention of sharing with the world that there'd been more to Hermione's abduction than had met the eye. In particular, he had no desire for the other Hogwarts Professors to hear of it. While he and Ron were not inclined to judge Hermione, or begrudge her any comfort at all in such a situation, he understood that others might not be as understanding. He had no intention of making life more difficult for her than it already was.

"She explained the situation, then?" Severus was rather surprised by this. It took a great deal of bravery to explain such a thing to Gryffindors. But perhaps she was aware that their regard for her couldn't be altered by such a thing. He privately thought that Harry's message of not needing the details was precisely what had caused her to provide them.

Harry nodded. They looked at one another for a moment, both of them feeling a measure of sadness for Hermione's sake. "She wrote us a good seven feet of parchment." At this, Harry chuckled a little, and Severus shook his head ruefully. Clearly the experience had not changed every aspect of her personality. She was still a compulsive over-achiever.

It was not until the Christmas Holidays, however, that Severus gave Hermione another conscious thought. Perhaps he'd wondered briefly as to her comfort in the intervening months, but he never really sat down and thought hard about her until right after yet another visit from Draco.


The discussion had been familiar, but the desperation in Draco's voice had stood out in sharp contrast to their previous encounters.

Severus opened the door at the younger man's knock, and Draco brushed by him with no greeting at all, throwing himself petulantly into the most comfortable chair in the room – the one Severus now thought of as 'Draco's.' The similarity between Draco and Harry's behaviors when they were upset was not lost on Severus. When he had poured them both a drink and seated himself as well, Draco said what he'd come to say.

"She's losing it."

Unused to such vague, and faintly accusatory statements from a Slytherin, Severus had simply raised an eyebrow and awaited an explanation.

"Mother isn't holding up very well. You can imagine that no one will speak to her at all. Anyone who managed to convince the Ministry that they were under the Imperious Curse is avoiding her like the plague. She can't even shop in peace – she gets ignored in all the best stores." He paused. "She cried herself to sleep last night."

"I warned her that life might be more difficult in England, but she chose to return from France in spite of my advice," Severus reminded him as gently as he could. Draco scowled.

"Father sent her to France to protect her. It was only supposed to be until after the Dark Lord was gone. She isn't the sort to run back to his family with her tail between her legs."

"Your mother has always been a proud woman."

"I don't see how she can remain that way in the face of this – this outrageous discrimination!" Draco stood abruptly, swallowed his entire drink, and quickly poured himself another. "I've got to do something. There has to be some way to let the world know that my father wasn't just one more Death Eater. That he was only doing what he had to do to survive."

Severus watched Draco finish off two more drinks, and decided that was probably enough. He discretely charmed the liquor cabinet closed. It made little difference, however, as Draco had no intention of remaining. He had said his piece. He wasn't going to beg Severus to help him anymore. He would find a way himself. He was just drunk enough to believe that he could manage it.

Draco set his glass down rather harder than was strictly polite. "And if you won't help me, I'll do it myself," he announced woefully, heading for the door. "If I've got to be friends with Harry Bloody Potter, it might as well be worth something to me." With that he slammed the door and was gone.

Severus finished his drink. It was long since time to do his duty by Lucius Malfoy. He only hoped Hermione was ready to face what he was going to ask of her. There wasn't much Harry could do to help Draco, Severus knew. But Hermione, he suspected, was a different story entirely.