Sans Serpens
Chapter Two – In Search of Memory
Cold, harsh. Blindingly white. Just as Hermione remembered it from earlier that summer, following the adventure to the Department of Mysteries. Madame Pomfrey rushed in from her side office, briefly determined with a glance which of the three was to be her patient that evening, and gestured wordlessly that the young witch take a seat on the nearest bed.
"Now, dearie," she addressed Hermione, "what seems to be the problem?" Her eyes perceptibly widened when Hermione unzipped her jacket and exposed the injury. Pomfrey pulled the curtain with a frown, and the Professors stepped aside to avoid being trapped within it. Hermione removed her shirt slowly, recognizing soreness in her body for the first time, as if she had ran a marathon. An angular, y-shaped laceration extended from just above her navel to fork at her sternum, leaving twin lines reaching for each collarbone.
"Magically healed, it would seem, and in a hurry, too," Pomfrey commented. A few short diagnostic charms later and she concluded the examination, and instructed Hermione to get dressed. Confused, Hermione asked, "can't you fix it, Madame Pomfrey?" She shook her head sadly and turned to peer around the curtain at Dumbledore and McGonagall.
"Could you join me over here, Professors?" She asked. They stepped around the curtain, and Dumbledore slowly took a chair beside the bed. Pomfrey addressed them rather than Hermione when she asked, "what happened to cause this?" Tears welled up in Hermione's eyes momentarily as she looked from Dumbledore to McGonagall, and she opened her mouth to speak, but found herself at a loss. She tried to recall when, if ever, there had been an injury that Madam Pomfrey couldn't heal.
"She can't remember." Dumbledore locked eyes with Pomfrey, and understanding dawned on her features. He was well aware of the potency of her diagnostic charms, and of the abundance of disorders and magical energies they could detect. He learned long ago that attempting to hide anything from Pomfrey's discerning wand was a futile effort, at best. So it discomfited him slightly to see such a great degree of concern and worry in the face of the mediwitch as she examined Hermione.
Speaking as if Hermione was not even present, Pomfrey began to detail her injuries to whomever was listening. "A fairly strong Obliviate is separating her from her memories, and unfortunately, it is specified to be lifted only by the caster. The magic used to cut her torso is in conflict with the magic cast to seal it, and I'm afraid that unless one or both of those sources are lifted, there is a limit to what I can do from this point." She apologetically looked at Hermione for the first time since beginning her report. She turned to Dumbledore with a look of finality in her eyes.
"The only solution I can offer is to remove the second magical energy and the effects it produced, and allow her to heal naturally. This, of course, will be a painful and arduous process, but it's our only option, apart from leaving it partially open, as it stands for the moment. I'm sorry." She directed this last at Hermione, and resigned to her fate, the child nodded.
"I'll do it," was her only reply. She startled the others with her quickness to agree with the mediwitch.
"That's settled then," the Headmaster concluded. "I assume it will take many stitches, but before you begin the removal of the charm, we need to handle the issue of her memory loss. Is there any way to reverse it?" He questioned, paused briefly to scratch his beard, then continued. "Perhaps if we could discover the origin of the wound through her latent memories, we could counter it, and save her from living with a permanent reminder," he finished hopefully. She turned from unpacking a recently conjured muggle first-aid kit to address him.
"I'm not certain, but there may be some obscure spell or potion that could –"
"Are you familiar with the Airomem draught, Miss Granger?" drawled an all-too-recognizable baritone from the opposite side of the curtain. Snape stepped in view and came to an abrupt stop directly in front of Hermione, a customary lecturing look plastered on his face as he loomed over her. She thought for a moment, but shook her head and responded with a watery, "no, sir." His mouth twisted sharply into a smirk before he understood that it would not do to intimidate her in such an emotional state. In his mind, she had regressed to her first-year self, the embodiment of timidity and nervousness. He took a small step backwards to adjust for the teenage hysterics he felt were imminent.
In subdued lecture mode, he continued with the explanation. "The Airomem draught is instrumental in the recovery of latent or suppressed memories, which, in your case, is particularly appropriate. It cannot break Obliviate, but it can retrieve memories buried beneath the curse, deep in the subconscious mind. It will leave minor damage to your subconscious as the memories escape, but the good news is that you won't be aware of any change. Are you up to this, Miss Granger? It can be a harrowing experience for one not accustomed to it." Dumbledore looked reproachfully up at Snape, but said nothing and waited for Hermione to answer.
"I'll do it," she repeated. Her mind feebly cooperated with her, kept her from dozing even in her exhaustion as she gazed at her professors in turn, hoping that they had her best interests at heart. In Snape's case, she hoped that he at least held respect for her as his student and had enough concern to brew the draught for her. But she refused to expect much from him, she didn't wish to be disappointed at his traditional indifference. Some people never change, she mused silently.
"I'll return shortly; coincidentally I have just enough in stock in my private stores to aid you. Are you sure you wish to proceed with this, Hermione?" She whipped her head up to face him, shocked by his use of her given name. She nodded, once, and he swiftly departed, turning on his heel and mindfully closing the door behind him. Pomfrey ushered the remaining professors to the waiting area at the other end of the ward while she painstakingly began her work. Hermione gasped in pain as her wound stretched open and bled profusely. Pomfrey stitched her up as fast as possible without sacrificing accuracy, which was slow enough to be excruciating for Hermione. Fifteen minutes later, Snape returned and a small "clunk" announced the arrival of the potion on the bedside table on the other side of the curtain, and not-so-steady footsteps followed his trail to the bed adjacent where they instantly quieted.
"See me about that leg before you leave, Severus, it sounds serious," Pomfrey called to him through the curtain as she finished the last stitch and knotted the remainder of the line. "There, all done, dearie." She handed Hermione a hospital gown and disappeared, only to return moment's later with a measured dose of Airomem in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Pomfrey waited patiently for Hermione to finish dressing, and gave one last warning before Hermione took the potion. "The effects are nearly instantaneous from what I've seen, so I suggest that you lie down first." She complied, and Madam Pomfrey tucked her in as she drank the first, and she barely had the chance to catch the vial and the glass from hitting the bed as Hermione lost consciousness. Furtive whispers could be heard from the next bed, and were silenced by the swift approach of Pomfrey's firm and even footsteps.
"When will Draco be released, Poppy?" Snape questioned. For the first time since Snape could remember, Draco had genuinely incurred an injury, but was not complaining about it. Or exaggerating its severity to epic proportions. Something had changed in Draco, but Snape wasn't sure what was different about him. It would seem that he had withdrawn into himself. But he would have all the time in the world with Draco to better understand his recent actions, and the motives behind them. So he filed the thought away in his long-term memory, in a box labeled "Puzzles", for future perusal. Madame Pomfrey was still moving her lips, and in his inattention, he had failed to grasp a single word by the time she concluded.
"Pardon?" he asked, with a tone that made it appear as if he had heard all but the last sentence. It worked; she wasn't irritated at having to repeat herself, in fact, she even spoke louder as a result. As if it was her fault that I wasn't listening. He smiled inwardly.
"I said, that it should take a few days for the swelling and the burns to recede. He should be capable of resuming normal activities by the start of term," she finished. "Now, Severus, let us see to that leg of yours, hmm?" He stood and took a few steps towards her, out of Draco's earshot.
"I am able to remedy it, rest assured that it is not my injury that has brought me here. Rather, there is a student in need of your attention waiting just outside this room." He paused while she registered his words, and after a beat continued in a lower voice, "if Draco is to be indisposed indefinitely, I have no more time to waste being idle. It would seem that another batch of Airomem would not be amiss for your next patient, and I very well cannot brew it from a prone position. We're in for a long night, Poppy, I do hope you are prepared for it." He bent over Draco and whispered something unintelligible, then stalked off stiffly towards the exit. He had eluded her care for the last time, she firmly decided.
She met the student at the double doors that granted entry to the Wing, gestured him to be seated, and queried, "what brings you here, dearie?"
"I don't remember."
Harry sat across from Tonks at the kitchen table, in the chair nearest to the fireplace, awaiting Dumbledore's imminent arrival. Before him sat his packed trunk and Hedwig's cage, his trunk just barely closed against the entirety of Harry's worldly possessions. They sat in silence, only broken periodically for Tonks to make the odd comment about the weather (it's so misty, lately, don't you agree, Harry?) or for her to inquire about his well-being. Both of which he ignored, giving a one-word response and promptly returning his attention to the fire. Why would I care about fog when I've been holed up here all summer? And the other, well, he didn't much fancy dwelling on Sirius for any longer than the time he was forced to spend reliving his godfather's death in his nightmares. In any case, it was obvious that she was suffering as well, and he did not want her further troubled on his account. The most apparent display of her distress was harder for her to hide than her emotions. Every minute or so, her features would shift involuntarily and suddenly; she was caught in an unbreakable loop of identities as a direct byproduct of her grief. One feature in particular was consistent. Her eyes were sunken and gaunt, wrinkled around the edges from worry. He suspected that she had not slept nor eaten in days, and that figure wasn't far from the truth. He heard a door shut in the distance, and bolted upright from his seat. He advanced to the door, but before he could reach it, Dumbledore stepped through.
"Have you gathered your things?" he asked. Harry nodded. He went to grab the handle of his trunk, but was forestalled by Dumbledore. "Now, it wouldn't do to have extra baggage, so I'll send these along with you, if you don't mind, my dear," he continued, addressing Tonks this time. She bent over to shrink his trunk and Hedwig's cage, still empty, and waited to be dismissed. "That will do. When you return to the castle, just send for Dobby, he can take them up to Harry's dormitory from there." She nodded to acknowledge that she understood, and made to leave by floo. Just before she tossed in the powder, Dumbledore added with concern, "after you've delivered Harry's belongings, see to it that you rest up, will you, Nymphadora?" She vanished in a puff of smoke without answering.
He then turned to face Harry again. "Follow me," he said, and led the way out of the kitchen to the front door. Harry was curious as to why they would be traveling in the open, as opposed to floo or portkey travel, and Dumbledore seemed to read his thoughts. "Side-Along Apparition," he stated simply. "I'll have to explain later, but for now hold tight to my arm, and don't leave this step." Dumbledore spun on the spot, and with a small pop, the two Disapparated into the night.
Harry felt squeezed as he held tightly onto Dumbledore's arm, as if all the air had been pushed from his lungs. He couldn't tell which end was up, and had it not been for Dumbledore at his side, he would've surely fallen ill at the way they seemed to spin endlessly in the dark void between destinations. He couldn't breathe, What kind of hero am I, he mused, defeated by Apparition alone. No sooner than it began, it was over (though it seemed like an eternity to Harry), and he found himself unceremoniously dumped on damp ground near the gates to Hogwarts. As he righted himself, Dumbledore wasted no time in gaining them entrance with a complex wand movement and a whispered word. He guided Harry forth with a steadying hand and the gates sealed themselves behind the two wizards, and the chains snaked back to their original positions and then lay still once more. They hastily advanced on the castle, Harry taking four steps for every one of Dumbledore's. It wasn't until they stopped short on the third floor that Harry could gather enough breath to pose a question.
"Aren't we going to your office, Professor?" Harry asked. Dumbledore turned and acknowledged Harry for the first time since entering the castle and frowned.
"It is best to not speak here, the walls most literally have ears, and eyes; however, I can say with confidence that you and I are overdue for a chat with Madame Pomfrey." Harry studied his feet, feeling almost chastised at his tone. Lately, it seemed as if every conversation was conspiratorially geared towards his mental health. He guessed that they would want to assess his level of grief, perhaps encourage him to speak to someone instead of bottling up his feelings as he was wont to do. He then made the decision to resolutely say nothing if they spoke a word about the loss of his godfather, save for 'I'm fine, really, don't worry about it'. He dragged his feet all the way down the corridor to the Hospital Wing.
Dumbledore pushed open the double doors and Harry hesitantly stepped forward. All thoughts of his own meeting with Pomfrey were pushed from his mind when his eyes rested on the closest bed to the entrance. A familiar face, mostly obscured by wild brown hair, lie sleeping there.
"Hermione, but -- " he trailed off, gazing to Dumbledore for the answer to the unasked question. He took a chair by her side, dumbfounded. "Professor, what... how..." again he tried yet failed to complete the question. Dumbledore understood his meaning, regardless of his less-than-eloquent wording of it. He closed the curtain around the three of them and explained her condition, and how crucial it was for her to regain what she had lost of her memories. Also, he added a subtle hint that she may appreciate Harry to be emotionally supportive of her in the time that followed. Dumbledore rose to leave, giving Harry permission to roam the castle as he saw fit, within reason, while school was not yet in session.
"As it is the summer still, there are no passwords to the dormitories, so I invite you to make yourself at home, wherever that may be for you. As such, I highly recommend you spend the next few days in the dungeons, the humidity there is most comforting this time of year." He smiled, his trademark twinkle ablaze in his eyes, and made to depart. Before he could reach the curtain, an unseen buzzing resounded, from the area of Dumbledore's outer robes (a shade of palest teal this evening) and he plunged a hand into the pocket and retrieved a rather plain-looking mirror. Harry instantly recognized it and turned away; he had recently rid himself of the shards remaining from the mirror Sirius had given him to keep them connected to each other. This mirror glowed briefly blue before fading, replaced by the bust of one Remus Lupin. He ran a hand through his graying hair, and sighed before speaking.
"Are you alone, Albus?" Lupin asked wearily. He looked around Dumbledore as best as he could from his vantage point within the mirror, and satisfied with what he had observed, continued in a tired voice, "it's awful, Albus, I hardly would've believed it if I had not seen it for myself." Dumbledore sat across from Harry in a chair he deftly conjured with a snap of his wrist, and the easy smile of before vanished from his face. Harry's attention was piqued; he had an uneasy feeling that no matter where he went, there would always be room for more bad news. And, he would hold himself accountable until he saw to it that Voldemort was killed, that much was certain. So his morbid curiosity allowed Lupin's words to hold him captive for a time. He looked to Dumbledore, who was still focused on the mirror, and he listened.
"One moment, please," Dumbledore said. He held the mirror to his robes, momentarily blocking Lupin's view, and gestured Harry to remain silent with a finger raised to his lips. "Do continue, Remus." He moved the mirror to its original position and waited.
"The house is in ashes, Albus, nothing could be salvaged. Obliviators were already making their circuit of the area when we arrived. I don't know what to tell you, we couldn't gather much intelligence from the Obliviators, and the parents..." he left the sentence unfinished, unable to find words that could quite explain them.
Dumbledore sighed. "Is it as we imagined, then?" he questioned with a resigned look. Harry felt he was completely in the dark; he hated more than anything to feel so uninformed and helpless.
"Worse," Lupin responded, "they're at St. Mungo's. We've not received word from Smethywyck yet, we sent him to investigate and requested that he report any changes, if there are any. For now the outcome looks bleak," he finished.
"What has become of them?" Dumbledore asked. He gazed over at the prone figure of Hermione, then back to the mirror.
"The Grangers have suffered the same fate as Frank and Alice, I'm afraid, and it was delivered by the same hand." It seemed as if Dumbledore wanted to be angry, but a sadness overwhelmed that feeling. A deep sadness, the likes of which Harry had never witnessed, not even within himself. A sadness borne of knowing the ending, being able to change it, but deciding to allow it to occur as it was destined to. Harry could empathize without actually experiencing it. He mentally fused the puzzle together, but still he felt as if he was missing a few pieces.
"Is there anything else, Remus?" He stood and vanished his conjured chair, preparing once again to leave.
"I'm sorry I have no greater news to report, old friend," Lupin lamented. "I'll be off, then," he announced. "I'll alert you if there are any improvements." Dumbledore nodded and ended the mirror's connection to Lupin with a tap of his wand to the glass, and pocketed the small-framed object.
As he reached the curtain, he turned and looked over his half-moon spectacles at Harry. In a tone that brooked no argument, he said, "Speak to no one of what you've heard tonight, Harry; once I have more details, I promise you she will be the first to know." He had his objections about keeping a secret from Hermione, and he hated the idea of providing for Dumbledore to withhold yet more information from him or his friends. But in light of the circumstance, Harry would prefer Dumbledore to be the bearer of bad news. "One more thing, Harry," he continued, "there is a meeting in my office tomorrow that I believe you will want to attend. Distancing you from the truth is not a mistake I shall make again in this lifetime." With that, they said their 'good nights', and Dumbledore departed. Somewhere in the ward, a cough reached Harry's ears. Harry was yawning before he even recognized his exhaustion. He rose from his seat, squeezed Hermione's hand, and silently prayed for her memories to remain lost.
"Let's hope the potion fails," he muttered as he let go of her hand and fled the Wing. In the bed adjacent to Hermione's, Draco stirred, unsettled at what he had overheard. Draco found himself agreeing with Harry. And I'll take that thought to the grave, and with it the last shreds of my sanity, he mentally berated himself. He shifted into a more comfortable position on his bed, though not by much, and soon afterwards he, too, fell asleep. And Hermione dreamed.
A/N: This chapter became so monumentally huge, I had to split it into two parts. Look forward to getting the second half updated at the conclusion of my spring break vacation. Thanks to the handful of readers that have inspired me to continue with this. Minor edits have been made to Chapter One, but nothing to change the overall plot. Read & Review, please!
