Thanx to AllegroAssai who helped me with this chapter
Chapter 5: Friends
Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Harry sat in the tap-room of the Leaky Cauldron and ate lentil soup. Hermione should have realised that it would be a modest meal when Ron had offered to invite them all. Lentil soup... oh well, it mattered not. It's the thought that counts, right? And Ron had wanted to make her happy. Did it really make a difference if they ate lentil soup in the Leaky Cauldron or a Five-Course-Meal in a fancy restaurant?
The atmosphere was tense. "Listen, Hermione," Harry tried hard not to sound irritated. "YOU...", he said in a threatening manner and pointed his index finger at her, "All those years you have told me to banish his presence from my head. Now that he is dead I have finally managed."
In a huff, he folded his arms and glared at her through the steam of the soup. Loudly, he continued; "I have no idea what all this interrogation is about, but I tell you one thing; I can't be arsed getting this guy back into my head. On purpose. He is dead, leave it be. Not a single soul on this table wants to talk about him or listen to anything concerning him. You got to learn to keep your gob shut at times because frankly, you are getting on everybody's nerves."
The raven-haired Gryffindor hit his lentil soup with his spoon, squinted into Hermione's direction and kept eating.
Hermione's lips thinned and her face turned from pink to purple. Angrily, she glared at Harry, having hundreds of arguments in her head. But she stayed silent, pressed her lips together even further and stared at her folded hands. She wanted to resolve the situation.
For the past half hour, Hermione had bombarded Harry with odd questions. He had to describe the exact feeling of the 'phantom pain', the prickling, how it felt to enter Voldemort's mind. Had Harry ever noticed any other emotion but hatred, scorn or the lust to kill?
"Why do you want to know?" Harry grunted to Hermione who sat right opposite. She leaned even more over her plate, so that her face was protected from Harry's icy glare and took a deep breath.
"I would like to write about it. Of course, I haven't even finished school, but Dumbledore published when he was still a pupil. Maybe I'll write an article or a book."
"About VOLDEMORT?" Ron got such a fright, that he let soup rain from the ceiling. If Hermione hadn't quickly summoned an umbrella, it surely would have dripped onto her head..
"Yeah, exactly. Why not?" Her face rigid, her chin pushed forward, Hermione leaned back and observed her friends' astonished faces.
"You see," she began and made a conciliatory gesture, "he was once young and a normal human being..."
"No he wasn't," interrupted Harry. He had jumped up from his chair and placed his fists next to Hermione's plate. "I saw him in the Pensieve, even as a little boy he was a sick sadist who felt superior and who used his abilities to torture small animals and little kids."
Hermione bit her lip and lowered her glance. She wanted to choose her words carefully. When she continued her speech, her voice was surprisingly calm and calculating; "I would like to write some sort of biography and I want to uncover what he was. And you, Harry...," she raised her head defiantly and met his glare, „You know more secrets about him than most people do. I could ask for a few more. Hagrid for instance has some information. But no one wants to talk about him."
"Well, I don't either," retorted Harry. He let himself fall back into his seat quite roughly and drummed nervously on the ebony table. His face was white apart from the angry read spots. "I want to have peace. He is dead and I am fed up of him controlling my life. The Daily Prophet is already getting on my nerves, so I would appreciate it if you stopped going on about this."
Ginny threw her arm around Harry and shot Hermione a 'Look what you have done' glance. But Hermione continued quickly, she wouldn't give up right away.
"Dumbledore showed you so much, you know so many things about him. I would like to know if the whole thing could have been prevented somehow, if it was at some point possible to heal his soul, if he didn't have normal human feelings and weaknesses..."
„No, he didn't" interrupted Harry again. From the corners of her eyes, Harry could see that some guests in the restaurant tried to eavesdrop. "You know, Hermione, you sound like Hagrid when he talks about one of his monsters. You know... you just have to get to know them better..." Ron laughed spitefully.
Hermione's almost murderous glare stopped him from saying any more. The four plates of soup lifted by themselves and flew back into the kitchen. Hermione watched them float away and thought about the things she wanted to explain to Harry. Deep in thought, she chewed her bottom lip. Her shoulders were slightly hunched, but otherwise she sat as stiff as if she had swallowed a ruler. Voldemort wasn't exactly the 'depressed' type and Harry didn't seem to feel anything that could tell her that he was suffering. Harry felt nothing. That could mean that Voldemort actually felt nothing or that Harry used occlumentics against him.
Ron gave Hermione a fright when he tried to resolve the situation and talk about her new job in St Mungo's. They'd been deeply impressed when they found out that Hermione had argued with the old coot Claris. They had had a lot of fun and described her as a female version of Argus Filch and forgot to ask what Hermione was actually doing now.
As usual, Ron started to think in the most inappropriate moments; "Where did the old dragon put you now if she thinks you are too smart to be with the other nurses?" Ginny, Harry and Ron giggled and leaned back in a relaxed way. But Hermione's body stiffened even more.
There were slightly absent expression on their faces while they remembered how Hermione, the little know-it-all, had tortured the teachers with her wisdom.
"You know, I have only one patient to take care of and he is on the closed ward," said Hermione with a fleeting gesture. "It is only three hours a day. Good for me, that gives me time to prepare for the new school year."
She hoped that the topic was over, but no. Deliberately looking bored, Hermione took her wand from her pocket and made her pumpkin juice sparkle in all colours imaginable. The clouds of smoke turned her hair into a frizzy mop.
"Cool, who is it you are caring for?" Ginny asked fascinated. Surely, she was thinking about doing the exact same thing instead of letting herself be bossed around by her mum.
Hermione turned red, pressed her lips together and felt the heat rising in her. Nervously, she looked over to the other tables. The guests were impressed with the sparkling drink and silently applauded.
Hermione sighed and remembered her excuse. "Well… he is pretty known, so I am under carer-patient-confidentiality." The three faces grew a little longer.
"It is a Death Eater. An important one at that and they keep him away from others so as to not cause panic. He still is in hospital, because he is too weak for Azkaban and is awaiting trial. Then they'll do away with him."
Ron smiled at her in a fatherly manner, put his arms around her and caressed her. "Oh, to hell, then just come home with or we go and visit your parents."
"Exactly. Don't let them get you down," agreed Ginny, smiling at Hermione.
Two new jugs appeared, filled with juice. One of them flew from guest to guest and poured juice into the empty cups. Hermione watched for a moment, then realised when Ron and Ginny seemed to think. Why they took it so well. Surely they must think that Hermione had quit the job?
She gesticulated wildly. "I haven't thrown in the towel. And I will not return to the Burrow. I have started this and I will finish it. The nurses said that all patients deserve care…" she couldn't go on when she saw her friends shocked faces.
Harry looked at her as if she was a ghost. Ginny gave the impression of being mixture between an angry Mars Weasley and a steam train. Ron… Ron had let go of her, moved aside a little and stared at her with wide open eyes. As is she was mental.
"That… THAT…" He didn't seem to have enough air fort he tantrum he wanted to throw. "You're nor SERIOUS, are you?" he managed to say.
Hermione checked if Harry or Ginny would help her, but they stared at her just as shocked as Ron did. Her eye-lids flickered nervously, her breathing laboured. She fidgeted in her chair and tried a clumsy smile to calm Ron down.
"Ah, well… I thought," her voice trembled and broke, "Er, Helen said I could get some extra cash and I need the money until school starts again und… well…" Nervously, she played with her curls, her fingers were sweaty. She let out a nervous giggle. "Well, the head nurse says that everyone deserves a minumum of dignity and…"
She stopped when Ginny turned tomato-red. Hermione knew she would start puffing and screeching now.
"DO YOU NOT CARE THAT THOSE PEOPLE KILLED FRED???"
Hermione felt herself shrink. No, of course she cared. Now Harry continued, not screaming. His tone showed that he was convinced that Hermione had taken temporary leave of her senses. "Listen Hermione, we really did understand S.P.E.W. Elf rights, great. You did get on our nerves, but… THAT!" He paused for a moment. „Just don't start with Death Eater rights."
„It isn't about their rights. Just… the staff has paralysed the man, he cannot move, he just stares into space and he has bedsores and he would starve if no one was there." She tried to defend what she was doing there, but all three just looked defiant.
"I DON'T GIVE A SHIT!" exploded Ron. "ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT YOU ARE WIPING A DEATH EATER'S ARSE? YOU ARE COMING HOME AND WANT TO TOUCH ME WITH THOSE HANDS?" Disgusted, he stared at her hands, looked as if he had to gag and wiped his arm at the bit where she had just touched him.
Hermione had to swallow when she remembered the disgusting smells and images from this morning. She fought back her tears and tried again. Softly, almost begging, she raised her hands and continued; „Ron, please. It is only until school starts again. I only get money for not letting him starve..."
Harry laughed bitterly and talked at her in a sing-song kind of way. "Come on, Hermione. HERMIONE!" He shook his head as if he still couldn't quite believe that he had to explain his point of view at all, „When we were in the cellar of Malfoy Manor, did you truly think that they had an organisation for the rights of mudbloods?" He sneered and his face expression reminded her of Snape's.
"They have threatened us, they have ripped our families apart… and their goal were people like you…," ranted Ginny who was bright red by now and pointed Hermione's scar where Bellatrix had cut her. "What do you care? Look for a different job. We don't want to have anything to do with people like them. Ron and Harry agreed loudly.
Harry leaned towards her dangerously close and Hermione shuddered when she saw every detail of his scar. "Tell me, is that the reason for interrogation about Voldemort? For your book?"
Icy cold replaced the heat that Hermione had felt a few minutes ago and her stomach cramped. He couldn't have guessed it, could he? "Listen, Hermione, let me tell you something; Whoever your new best friend is, I won't help you with whatever you are doing. Especially not if you try and show Voldemort or any of his followers in a better light. They don't deserve it. Shame on you for sitting here and asking something like that. WE… and he pointed to Ron, Ginny and himself, „haven't forgotten their crimes."
"BUT I AM NOT ON THEIR SIDE!" screeched Hermione, desperate.
"Well then, quit hat job and forget about the book," answered Ginny. "You just want to make yourself look important again!" she nagged and red angry spots appeared on her cheeks. Now Hermione couldn't stop the tears any more. They ran down her cheeks and snot came out of her nose. Every second, she sounded more like a whining dog. "You don't get this. I do NOT WANT TO MAKE MYSELF LOOK IMPORTANT!"
"Yes, you are." That was Ron who was looking at her again, but his face showed disappointment. He distanced himself even more from her. "You want to show off and show everyone how great you are and how noble. Forget it, we won't help you warp the facts. Voldemort is dead and frankly, I wouldn't mind if any of those who helped him died, too."
Ron folded his arms, pressed his lips together and sat completely straight. He had become an impenetrable fort that fought every argument down without mercy.
He was hurt, deeply hurt and that caused him to not even notice that he was becoming hurtful himself. Hermione was fed up, it had been too much today. "IF THAT'S WHAT YOU THINK, SOD YOU! DO YOUR STUFF ALONE!" She screamed and then started sobbing and buried her face in her hands.
The summoned umbrella turned in the air and magically refilled lentil soup rained on Ron, Harry and Ginny. The guests looked at them, the three had everyone's attention. They had been recognised immediately and words like 'Death Eaters' and 'Voldemort' ensured undivided attention. All four of them had performed an interesting stage play, but Hermione didn't care that she was being watched. She had jumped up from her chair and screamed so loud, that the chandeliers vibrated and jittered. "RONALD WEASLEY! YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE DISGUSTED BY MY HANDS ANY MORE!!! IF YOU DON'T BEG FOR FORGIVENESS ON YOUR HANDS AND KNEES, I WANT NOTHING TO DO WITH ANY OF YOU! I AM NOT A TRAITOR!"
Snorting and puffing and sobbing, Hermione stormed out of the tap-room, ran up the stairs to her room and threw herself onto the bed. She buried her head in the cool pillow.
It was so unfair, they were so unfair. She'd come up with such a good excuse. Everyone should have believed her to write a book. They should have believed it if she had said that she was caring for a Death Eater because no one else was doing it. Of course they should have. She curled herself up in a fetal position and trembled. They should have believed a whole lot more, but now they thought her to be a traitor, threw accusations at her. Thought that she tried to excuse their crimes, trivialise them in order to make herself look good.
Angrily, she shot up and then fell back down onto the bed. Then hit the pillow with both fists. How could they think that about her? Yes, of course she had thought about giving up. Of course she needed the money, of course she was too proud to admit defeat in front of Helen, who had been so nice and Claris, who thought her to be an incapable windbag.
None of that would have bothered her if her friends were by her side, if her friends understood her. But no, they thought she was only craving recognition.
And tomorrow, she had to go back to him. Hermione's skin was blotchy due to the anger and the tears, she also started to turn slightly green. To HIM!!! She gagged and ran to the toilet to vomit when she thought about his naked, stinking body. She hadn't quite made it. Exhausted and saggy, she collapsed next to the toilet.
DISGUSTING! She was disgusted by herself. And RON! How much had he hurt her when he told her that he wouldn't touch someone who did what she did. And he didn't know WHO she was caring for.
What would her friends say if they found that it it was HIM she was looking after? Trembling, she stood up and cleaned her nose. It was so blocked, she couldn't breathe.
Why didn't she just quit? It didn't matter what happened to this butcher. It was only a question of weeks or months anyway. He was already destined for death. E should lie there and die like an animal, that was the way he lived anyway.
But then she would have to admit her weaknesses if front of her friends, she would have to admit that she really only wanted to feel good about herself and that she was an incapable know-it-all.
Her wand lay next to her bed. She got it and went back to the bathroom to clean up the mess. She should really ask Helen for instructions for cleaning charms. She was, after all, a witch, so she could make her life easier with those.
She felt so angry she could have bitten her wand hand when she remembered that she could have at least summoned rubber gloves. She had to learn. At least there was Helen, who seemed to – contrary to her friends –understand her.
She had to go back tomorrow. She needed money and she had to ensure that the victims got their vengeance. Her friends thought that Hermione didn't care about those victims.
She burst out crying again. And she'd have to go back, would have to wash the naked, white skin, the expressionless face. She's have to cope with the smell from the man who she could only think of someone who had scared and murdered people.
xXx
Completely overtired, with creases on her forehead and dark shadows under her eyes, Hermione stepped into forensics. Two Aurors were standing guard. At first she was confused, but then she remembered that Helen had said they guarded this twenty-four seven for the next few months. Someone would always be there, she wouldn't have to be alone. It somehow calmed her, if that was at all possible.
Voldemort was wandless, devitalised, paralysed and obviously in a mental deep sleep. She would do her work while her thoughts wandered to her parents… She would not look at him and leave as fast as possible.
If there was still some work left after two hours, she would leave in spite of this. Helen was right. No matter if he got sick (better said: sicker, he was already sick) because of it… he was already broken. Why try so hard?
She entered the room, slowly, with pushing the squeaking trolley. There he lay. Pale and numb. The eyes were closed. Maybe he slept. Much better for her, that meant she didn't have to talk to him or feed him.
If she was fast enough, she could be finished while he still slept. Then she wouldn't have to watch him stare out of barred window, wouldn't have to look into these eyes.
With confident steps, Hermione approached him. Without hesitation, without fear she stepped beside his bed and bent over him. A slight slap in his face to see if he really was asleep. The clapping noise echoed and caused her goosebumps. Once more she slapped him, a little harder now, but he wouldn't wake up.
Ron, Harry and Ginny should she her now. She did not fraternise with the enemy, she arranged retaliation. Hermione, the angel of revenge. RIGHT!
Oh well, if he was lying around anyway, she could brush his teeth. Battling the stench was more important than caring for the bedsores on his pelvis. More important than feeding him. The main thing was that he did not stink. SHE had to stand this for the next few months. SHE would decide what was bearable and what was not. Her decision…not his.
She was just about to bend over to him to open his mouth when a little bird banged against the window. Hermione startled. Oh, this poor wee birdie. Hopefully it wasn't injured. Standing on her tiptoes, she tried to look out of the small, rectangular window to see what had happened to this bird. However, the window was rather high and Hermione was not tall enough. She hardly saw anything. Hopefully, the animal was well…but when…
AAAAHHHH!! She howled in pain when she felt long, thin fingers clawing into her hair, grabbing her head and throwing her backwards onto the bed. Lord Voldemort wasn't lying there any more. He'd jumped as fast as a cobra to grab her with red flaming eyes. The mouth curled into a sneer, he bent her head backwards as he stared at her.
Then he stretched his arm, the white hands clutched her throat as he gazed at her triumphantly.
His face close, he snarled with the coldest, cruelest voice she had ever heard. "Worthless, filthy mud-blood." The madman ridiculed her. His clawhands ripped up her collar and with an appalling cracking sound, his sharp-edged teeth sunk in her tender, velvety neck.
Black blood dripped out of the corner of his mouth as he straightened up, just to bent over her again and then…darkness surrounded her and her last thought was for Snape who'd died a similar death.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!
Screaming in panic, Hermione shot up. She was sweating, wincing, crying… where was she? Where had he gone to? She jumped onto her knees and looked for him… jumped out of the bed and looked underneath it. Where was he gone? Her fingers clasped her throat to protect it from further bites but…her neck was dry. No blood. It took her a few minutes until she realised that this had only been a dream.
Breathing heavily, she climbed back into her bed. However, she was not calm, because tomorrow she really did have to go to the dormant snake. All she could do was hope that he would not jump up, full of life and hatred, to slash her.