Beta: Dark Empress V –kiss-
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
WE SHALL OVERCOME
Chapter 3: Alone with him
Hermione pressed herself to the wall in the furthest end of the room and slid slowly to the ground, her eyes still staring at the patient.
The last time she had seen Voldemort in person was during the battle of Hogwarts.
She recognised the snow-white, hairless skin, the burning red eyes and the flat face with snake-like nostrils. There he lay - pale, even thinner than before, with lacerations on his face and body.
Hermione noticed with a wave of sudden nausea that he was undoubtedly naked, except for a diaper. A thin blanket covered his body up to just under his chest. It was very cold inside the room. Obviously, the employees did not care about keeping the place warm.
Lord Voldemort, or rather the former Lord Voldemort, must have certainly recognized her name.. He must have realized who has been sent to him. Hermione didn't really know if this was meant to be a punishment for her or for both of them.
If he had noticed her, he did not show it. He was still motionless, lying on his back covered only with a blanket, his arms resting by his sides. The hospital bed lifted the upper part of his body slightly. His eyes were staring numbly through the window. Nothing indicated that he had registered her presence.
Hermione stood up again. What should she do? She wanted to take a few steps forward to put the trolley right again, but her legs had different ideas. Here she was, standing with her back practically glued to the wall and unable to go any further.
Helen had said that nobody would voluntarily enter this room because they were too afraid and revolted after just one look at him. No one would have any contact with him except for her. Perhaps she did not have to do anything. She would just sit down again, wait out the two hours and leave the room. Nobody would know if she had done anything or not. That thought cheered her up for exactly ten minutes, and not a second longer...
She had to do something. She did not want to look at this hated face. Nevertheless, she also could not risk turning her back to him or looking away from him. The memory of his cold, clear voice invaded her mind over and over again.
In the past few years, she had learned to hate and fear this man. Even Dumbledore hadn't been able to see an ounce of humanity in him.
But she really had to do something. She wouldn't be able to bear it if all she did for the next four months was just stand around and avoid looking at his face. Why couldn't she just give up? She didn't want to let Claris triumph, but under these circumstances... Who wouldn't understand her?
Actually, none of her friends would understand, because she wasn't allowed to tell them who she had to take care of. Everybody would think that the oh-so-smart, know-it-all Hermione could only read books, but was no good when it came to practice. Intelligent, but naive and inexperienced. Actually one of the reasons she had volunteered was to prove to these people (secretly, she also included Ron and Harry in this group) that she was able to do more than just memorise stuff and perform spells in safe classroom conditions.
She took a few steps forward again, always careful not to take her eyes off of the patient. Her trembling hand was still pointing her wand at him as she kneeled down to gather up the things that had landed on the floor, and put them back on the trolley.
There was still no reaction from him. Was it true that they had put paralyzing spells on him? But who could know how much power still remained in the paralysed Voldemort? Mute and without a wand, he was probably still stronger than all the Hogwarts pupils put together, herself included. She swallowed. But he didn't even stir. Were there some different, special spells that they had put on him? There must be... He was unable to move. He could probably speak, maybe move his head, too... Apparently, he wasn't able to do more. But he didn't seem to even try... He just lay there and stared at some indefinable thing far beyond the barred window.
Hermione's whole body felt like one stiff knot. She straightened herself very slowly, the wand in her trembling hand still directed at him. Slowly, she tiptoed closer. It seemed as though he were a snake, lying there calm and motionless, but able to lash out any second and kill her with its venom. A fitting comparison...
Hermione, the predator tamer was now standing at the foot end of the bed. What should she do first? There was a chair next to his bed. If she was to make the bed, he would have to sit there. She could make up the bed by magic. But she couldn't make him float all over the room while he was being magically washed by sponges. That she would have to do herself. Her breathing accelerated. Cold sweat broke out on her forehead. She could see him so clearly now. Yes, without a doubt, this was Voldemort. Lord Voldemort, who still just lay there and seemed unaware of everything and everyone around him.
A few days earlier, she had done a crash course on nursing. They had shown her how to wash men and women, how to detect fever, how to change the sheets and apply unguents. But she didn't feel very confident... She would have liked to ask somebody. UPSTAIRS. Where she wanted to be. Upstairs, together with Helen, who would show her around, demonstrate and explain everything again. Not down here with this man, who was hated more than anyone else on the planet.
She would make up the bed first. Washing and feeding him, that's what she was most afraid of... It must wait a little longer. "I.. I will pull you out of bed now" she said in a high, trembling voice. "I will sit you on the chair and then make up your bed, allright?" No reaction.
She knew she shouldn't talk to him. But to touch him without warning seemed dangerous. And when she said what she was going to do out loud, then she had to do it. She couldn't chicken out anymore. Still pressed firmly to the wall, she slid slowly towards the bed. Wand at the ready, she shielded herself behind a chair that stood level with the upper part of his body. and walked up to his side. Would she be able to lift him up and sit him on the chair? He was quite tall. She could probably drag him behind her, but she certainly wouldn't be able to lift him up.
Now she stood directly in front of her patient, looking down on him. He was so thin. He had always looked thin, every time she had seen him. Always swathed in his large, black cloak. But now he seemed to be even thinner. Like a skeleton.
She asked herself how many times he hadn't been given anything to eat or drink because everyone was too afraid to go near him. She could see almost every bone through the pale, hairless skin of his chest. The only thing that seemed to matter to them was to keep him just barely alive. He should be able to live just a few days longer. And if meantime he was slowly starving, then all the more success for them. The weaker he got, the better for the hospital. Even Hermione felt reassured by his gaunt figure.
Now she had to touch him. She longed to put on thick woollen gloves on her hands so she would not to have to feel his skin on hers.. Damn, at least Muggles got to put on disposable gloves when dealing with the sick. But here it was unnecessary, because the germs were destroyed by magic.
She tugged at the pillow supporting Voldemort's upper body to pull it a bit closer. Now that she was so near, she could no longer ignore the terrible smell coming from him. He hadn't been bathed since the day he woke from the coma. The date of the last diaper change was also unknown.
She tried not to breathe, but this did not help, because she was starting to feel faint. Taking irregular, shallow breaths, she decided she would have to bear the smell until she was finished with her task. Cautiously, as if she were putting her hand into a container full of maggots, disgusted and terrified, she pushed her arm under his back, slipped her hand under his arm and manouverd his upper arm so that it rested on his chest. Now she had to move even closer. She put her second hand under his arm and dragged him up into a sitting position. Then she turned him over onto the side. The thin, snow-white legs, which looked more like sticks than human extremities, were put over the edge of the bed.
Now she grabbed him hard again and pulled him off the bed with one desperate heave. For such a bony person, he was surprisingly heavy, like a wet sack. Gasping for breath, she took one step to the side and with her last ounce of strength, lugged him onto the bedside chair.
She trembled violently. She felt as if she had carried an elephant through the entire hospital, from the cellar to the roof. Her eyes focused warily on his lifeless-looking form. She took a few steps back and directed her wand at the filthy, reeking bed.
The blanket and the mattress flew off the bed and into the laundry bag hanging by her trolley. Another flick of the wand and a new mattress and fresh sheets landed neatly on the bed. Only a thin, white linen spread floated over the fresh made bed, ready to cover him. Hermione noticed another cloth lying on the trolley. It was glossy and seemed to be made of a plastic-like material. It was probably supposed to be put under his body while she washed him, so it immediately floated onto the bed as well.
"I will put you back on the bad and wash you, all right?" She sounded like a scared little mouse rather than the best student Hogwarts had seen in years, who had been so successful in the fight against this very man. Once more she placed herself behind him and dragged him, virtually wheezing with the effort, back onto the bed, but not to lay him down. She sat him on the edge of the bed and, to her greatest surprise, he did not topple over, but remained motionless. Perhaps it was due to the paralysing charm that he couldn't fall against her will.
Numb and empty, his gaze was still fixed on some unnamed object in the distance and his face remained absent and expressionless.
She took a cloth, soaked it with soap-water and started to mop his back. As she ran the cloth over his body, she noticed that in certain places the skin was rough, and the wrinkles that formed at her touch remained far longer than normal. She recalled having read in a book that this was a sign of dehydration.
Evidently nobody had dared to give him much to drink since he woke up. Hermione sympathised with her colleagues.
His back was covered with bedsores. After she washed him she would have to turn him over so that she could rub in the brown salve.
Trembling, she squeezed the water out of the washcloth and poured fresh water into the bowl. Now she had to wash his face and the front part of his body.
His face… how dreadful a human face could be. But the fire in his red eyes was absent. They were not glowing anymore, but they were still scary…
Only his warm breath on her face indicated that this thing she was washing was not a mannequin, but a living human being. Well, sort of, at least. The former dark lord was completely still as Hermione scrubbed him down.
If they had given her a cloth and told her to wash a colony of giant flying cockroaches, she couldn't have been more terrified and nauseated. Every step she had to take forward made her shudder. She reached out with her arms, but kept her upper body as far away as possible. Every breath she felt on her skin made her jump back, only to continue washing him thereafter. Even more nervous, if that was even possible…
Did she have to brush his teeth? How? "Open your mouth, please, I have to brush your teeth" she squeaked.
No reaction. Now she calmed down a bit and became more confident. If he had intended to grab her throat to strangle her, he'd already have done that. Still, it was terrifying to touch him. She grabbed his chin and pressed her thumb and forefinger to the sides of his mouth to open it. It was not open very wide, but enough to squeeze through the toothbrush in and brush his teeth quite thoroughly. The mouth was now open wide enough for her to see that his teeth were, as far as she could see, spotlessly white. Hygiene and cleanliness seemed to be have been important to him. Nonetheless, now his breath smelled so bad it made her queasy.
After this work was done, she put him carefully back to bed. She could not even look at what she was doing when she changed his diaper. She disposed of it with a flick of her wand, then washed his legs.
Then she needed fresh water once more. Her next task would require plenty of fresh water. He was so… filthy. So she went to the washbasin on the wall to get fresh water.
It was ice-cold. Apparently, he did not deserve warm water.
Hermione wished nothing more than to run away screaming. The whole area of his body under the diaper was covered with filth. Horrible, disgusting, nauseating… The breath taking smell nearly made Hermione cry.
She wrapped her hands in thick, soapy washcloths and scrubbed him until the water turned a nasty brown and she had to go to the basin to refresh it.
On one hand, she did not want to look at all this filth, but on the other hand, she had be able to see what she was doing to be sure that she cleaned him properly.
She kept glancing fearfully below his abdomen to check if her washing his intimate parts caused a reaction from his body. Had she noticed any traces of an erection, she'd abandon all pretence of pride and run away screaming. But his whole body was still completely motionless.
Afterwards she had to rub in the salves, so she removed the plastic mat and turned him over to dab the ointment onto the bedsores. Some of them were already bleeding, but the brown salve was amazingly effective. However, this was definitely the first time the paste was used during his stay in this hospital.
After she changed the diaper and covered the thin, pale body with a cloth (still unable to look at his face), she felt a bit safer. The worst tasks were over.
Most of the work was done. Now Hermione had to feed it..him…whatever. But with what? She couldn't imagine him getting three balanced meals a day like the other patients upstairs. Pensively, she lifted a few bottles standing on the trolley. She identified them as mineral water and tube feed. Since he didn't have any tubes or needles (how could a log of wood like him have managed to get rid of the tubes?) she would probably have to feed him like a baby.
She felt impossibly silly and humiliated. The only consoling thought was that none of her friends knew what she was doing. Even if it hadn't been forbidden, she would have never told any of them about this. They would only scorn her.
She readjusted the bed again so that the upper part of his body was slightly lifted. She parted his lips and put the mouth of the bottle between them, then gradually tipped it over, so that first the water, and then the nutrition-liquid made its way slowly down his throat. Sometimes a drop trickled over the corner of his mouth, but she wiped it off immediately.
He looked as if he was still in a coma. Yes, his eyes were open but this was the only trait that distinguished him from a coma patient. Hermione did not know if his numbness was making things easier or frightening her.
After her work was completed, she looked at the clock on the wall. Thirty minutes past 10. It had taken her more time than planned. What a terrible morning! But somehow, she had made it… until tomorrow. No, she dreaded it too much to think about it now.
Helen had put a sheet of paper on the trolley. It was an accurate list of what belonged in the room and what she had to take back with her. Nothing could stay here that did not belong to the sickroom. He must not get even a shred of a chance to attack the personnel, or to kill himself. He must not die until the Ministry had judged and condemned him in public.
Trembling and always facing his bed, she made her way to the door ant sent out the signal to the Aurors to open it. Still, she did not dare turn her back on him.
As she exited the room, she realized how harried and haunted she must look in the eyes of the Aurors.
Quickly, now.. She had to clean up the trolley as fast as possible so she could get back upstairs to Helen and..
And what? Anything, just to be with someone who did not frighten her.