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Chapter 6: Cold Routine

The next morning came and was dreary. Hermione was in no hurry to go to her job. According to what Helen had said, it was not important at which time she arrived. If she wouldn't go there at all, nobody would detect it presumably. Well, probably not quiet right. They would supposedly

notice it, if they would find him lying dead in his bed during a control…in two or three months.

Still Hermione was to duteous to do earn money for something she did not do and so she decided to go with this job in any case. Of ´course, it was also an act of defiance. What a barefacedness to accuse her for betrayal…after all she had done for Hogwarts, the order or her friends… This was her live and … yes, it was her live. No need to apologise for staying in the hospital. It was just a job… and nobody knew how special this job was, so they had actually no reason to be so unfair. Whatever… she would stay there and maybe… if she were in the mood to do so… she would forgive her friends when they would recognise what she was right, as always…

Hopefully they'd do so, ´cause, to be true, Hermione felt rather bad and she was frightened of being all alone. Anyhow, last night, after the clash, she brought herself to end this job. Someday he will be death she consoled herself. In a few month all this would be over, she said to herself. Then she would go back to school. Maybe he died even before the school started again, so she wouldn't have to ask Professor McGonagall to do a few weeks of home learning until the execution.

Helen intimated to her, that he would not survive the coming October. The ministry pushed for a quick hearing. They wanted to show him to the world, to denounce and sentence his doings and then, execute him as fast as possible. No Revisions, no delay, no adjournment.

Afterwards her life would go on… Actually, the morning was not so dreary at all, she thought to herself, as she looked out of the window while she put on her clothes. In fact, the morning was not as dreary as she first thought. It was not dark; it was even pleasantly light and sunny outside. Still, somehow the sun seemed to shine a dark light.

Thinking of Ron was also no help. She loved him, but this nauseation in his eyes when she told him about her duties in this job; it seemed to be impossible to wipe it away of her mind.

They´d often quarrelled but they´d always made up again. Hopefully this time too. No, she wouldn´t chuck him, he should rue his harsh words… and after this he should come back to he. Hopefully he would do so. Hopefully she would get on with Harry and Ginny again. She needed her friends, live was drearily, cheerless and so lonely without them.

xXx

Back in St.Mungo´s again, she had to deliver Claris her wand. The head nurse handed her a special hospital wand out she had to use during her working time. Claris gave the impression that she totally enjoyed Hermiones pitiable sight. She said nothing about Voldemort and she did not ask how Hermione fared yesterday, but she smiled knowing and evil as she watched Hermione who put on a face as if she had to go to her own funeral.

The wand Hermione got, instead of her own, was of a special kind. This wand only worked inside of this building… and only there. More precisely, it ought to be used only upstairs. It authorised her to open and close doors but, of course, also to exert care and simple healing charms. Like a computer chip, the wand saved all her authorities in itself. Furthermore Claris allocated Hermione to outstretch her forefinger so that Claris could prick her, not especially gentle, with a sharp needle. "OUCH!"

A drop of blood was levitated on the wand, which appeared to absorb red liquid. Therewith it now had a body-memory. This meant, only Hermione (the owner of the blood that was absorbed by the wand) was allowed, or able, to use this wand because the wand only worked when it identified the person who touched it as its owner. Otherwise the wand would (try to) electrocute the rightless person who touched it. But probably this wouldn't be necessary because the wand worked like a magnet that repelled the similar charged pole. Therefore, if Voldemort would ever be able to move himself, and if he would furthermore be able to attack Hermione and wrench the wand from Hermione, it would never succeed to him to touch it.

Each day she had to stay for about two hours a day, six days a week with him (Hermione worked on flexitime anytime between 10h and 16h), when she arrived in the hospital she had to deliver her own wand in Claris Bureau and to take the hospital-wand away. In the mean Time the hospital-wand had to stay in a purpose-built repository. When she left, she had to put the wand back to the repository. Not until then she got her own wand back.

If the wand wasn't used for more then three days, this meant after Voldemorts execution, it would destroy itself. On Sundays she didn't need to go – better said: mustn't go- to him.

Hermione listened mute, nodded on and off, to show that she paid attention the Claris lecture. Afterwards she received the hospital-wand and set out for the lower floors. As she walked down the stairs, she noticed that the looked security wing she worked in was just a small part of the cellar. Many other doors leaded to other, not less frightening looking, wards. Surely one of these doors leaded to the mortuary. How many victims of Voldemort found their way threw this door?

But Hermione didn't choose any of the other doors this day, she didn't go the died dead, so took the right, dark corridor that lead her to the looked forensic ward to meet the living dead who lay there. The dark lord or rather, that remained from him.

With a trace of fear, she that today really other Aurors kept watch on Voldemorts door as yesterday. A Detail that remained her to the nightmare she had yesterday. Today she had to gather herself again, had to take a deep breath until she dared walk threw opened the door into the dark cellar room.

Slowly, very slowly she came closer to him. The slightly creaking wheels of the trolley dined like motor saws threw the room. It was so quiet that may even the buzz o a fly had sounded as load as a waterfall.

And there he lay, in fact, right the way she left him yesterday. Exactly the way he lay where in her dream. Only one difference, his eyes there opened and gazed out of the window. "Hello…" she had to harrumph, the lump in her throat made it nearly impossible to go on talking. "It´s me again. I will come to you every day now. How do you do? Did you…sleep well?"

No Reaction. Of Course not. What had she bided? It was silly to talk to him, but the sound of a human voice, even her own, appeased her a bit. How he lay there…mortuary. If he was dead? Even coma-patients winced from time to time out of reflex. So completely without any stirs…that was not normal.

She needed to go to him to check this out. However, she did not feel like this. She wanted not to get so close to him, she wanted to have a rest. She was exhausted…only because she went threw this door. Nevertheless, this would do no good because she'd still have look after him after the rest…

A step, he lay there quiet and calm.

Another step, seemed to notice nothing and no one.

A further step, not even the bedspread was shifted.

One more step and she stood next to him.

She had no mirror with her she could hold in front of his nostrils. She could take his pulse… Oh, please not, no body contact. She was so close to him that he only had to stretch out his arm to grab her white cloak. Her gaze gilded downwards… nothing created the impression of life inside him.

YES! If she looked more thoroughly at him, she saw how the thin ribcage heaved and sank itself.

He breathed. Should she be relieved or disappointed now? "I'll sit you on the chair again and make the bed." Barely more than a thin squeak escaped out of her mouth.

Carefully she circled the bed, took the chair near the window and put it on the other side of the bed, the side that was closer to the door. It was easier for her to take him…and easier to escape, if he would jump up surprisingly.

The bed-head was turned up; therewith she could take him more easily. She turned the pillow towards her, heaved the upper part of his body a little up and clasped anew the bent forearm from behind.

As she heaved him to the chair, she turned her head as far aback as possible so that they both nearly keeled over. But the idea of his cold occiput at her cheeck was too unpleasant to stand up straight. She unclasped him so fast that he downright flopped on the chair.

Fast Hermione jumped a couple of steps behind with shock. She did not stop until she felt the iron doorknob on her back. Carefully, the wand directed to him, she come nearer again. No he did not move. She´d dropped him; he did not try to attack her so she dared to direct the wand and her attention back to the self-changing bedclothes.

Now it went bad again because she had to sit him on the bed again to wash him. Hermione looked as if she was peeling a very hot potation when the flannel in her hand glided along his body. As less body contact as possible. She winced repeatedly back, as if she´d burned herself. Every time when she had direct body contact, she jumped a bit back. Three times he almost fell from the chair because she moved away too hasty, so that she nearly pushed him over. And he…still lay in the bed, gazing numb out of the window. But who knew what was really happening inside this head?

Hermione had the pulse and the perception of a bomb disposal expert when she changed his diaper. As yesterday, the unpleasant stink inundated her again, but it was not as terrible as the first time…because yesterday he had been washed at least.

She was faster done with him as yesterday, but still overobersvent. Yesterday she hadn't known what she had to execrate or what she had to fear, but after this dream last night, the reason was obvious.

With outstretched fingers, she lilt him his head and went about brushing his teeth first, after this feeding him. Actually an illogical sequence, but who cared about? Nobody was interested in what would become of the former lord Voldemort. He lived only for the reason to that England wizards and witches could sit pretty to the world public, then they punished and killed him.

While Hermione stood around there, filling water gulp by gulp in him, always a cloth in readiness to wipe his mouth…she couldn't prevent a strange feeling from arising in her.

There he was…the nowadays most powerful wizard in the whole world. Whole continents trembled when they only heard his name. A name, that spread fear and terror across the whole world.

And when she pricked him, she still could see a distorted skin fold looming. Maybe his odd semiconsciousness was caused by underfeeding and water deficiency?

After the tube feeding bottle was empty, she gave him the mineral water. Gulp, wipe, gulp, wipe. At least he was able to swallow it…indubitable a reflex.

After this bottle was empty, too she watched him closely. Pale and thin. His skin was not only white, it rather looked marmorate. Certainly, he felt terrible cold. The bedspread they gave him was rather thin. She tipped the spread with her wand so that it swelled a bit. Trembling she pulled the spread a bit higher. If he would die of thirst or freeze to death, she would not have finished her task correctly. She had to pay a little bit more attention to him. Not for her, not for him…for his victims.

Maybe she could perform a refilling-charm to have more mineral water. How much water was inside? Something about 500 millilitres. How much water should a man drink each day? In any case, more then the hospital conceded to him. Tomorrow she would give him even more…but now all that she wanted was to go away. Anew she needed more than two hours…

"I´m going now. I'll be back tomorrow, yes?"

She left the dark lord immobilised and motionless behind. Nerveless she kept on pointing with her wand on him, as she went backwards out of the door. You never know…

She did not see Helen today. They made clear to her that this was a task of her own. If she needed help, she had to search it herself. Nobody would come to her to offer her advices,

After the work had been done, Hermione sat herself in the visitors tearoom and spread a sheet of parchment out to write her report. But somehow… somehow…it would probably be better if she wouldn't write to clearly what she'd done today. They could get some things wrong. Better, she would not refer that she tuck him warm in or that she gave him more water then the hospital collocated her to give him.

Her finishing time was rather lonely. She was overcome by the impressions and feelings that descended on her. She could look for Helen the next day to ask her, if it was allowed to work free in other wings, after she had done her work in the forensic ward... But, to be honest, this 2, 5 hours exhausted her to much to focus any other jobs than this. She was agitated and tiered at the same time, unable to create any clear thought. She needed someone to talk, to tell someone about this war of nerves… But with whom? Helen? Rather not… she was busy in the upper floors. Her parents? Where in Melbourne… Ron…or Harry and Ginny? No, she still had a bit of dignity. That would look as if she would try to apologise herself. What for?

She wandered about aimlessly threw the streets of London for hours. This was not that bad. Why she nether did that before? Because she always had been supervised before…by her parents, Hogwarts teachers, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and…last but not least… by the death-eaters.

Accidentally (really?) she came around Grimmauld Place 12. Harry said he would fix the house up because he wanted to live there when he was not in Hogwarts and, of course, after his school time. However, it took him a lot of time to get rid off all the banns and curses that lay on this house… if he was at home today? Maybe he saw her standing there…but nobody came out, so she moved on.

Back in the Leaky Cauldron, she made a cass check. If she thought on the money she earned in the hospital and added the money her parents gave, her… it would presumably be better if she stayed in here instead in looking for a small flat in Muggle London. An own flat was too expensive and actually not important for the short time she would stay here. In addition, furthermore to be honest, she was pretty glad that she was not all alone here. In the evenings, she could eat her money downstairs in the taproom, had small talks with Tom (why she never noticed how scary this name was), the room-maids or other guest, with those sometimes also spent her early night and chatted with them. But the most time, of course, she spent in muggle- or wizard libraries or read the books she brought with from where in her room.

While she buried her nose in her new Arithmancy-book she cogitated who might was the new Head Master in Hogwarts. Presumably, Professor McGonagall. Nevertheless, she was getting a little bit long in the tooth. Well, Dumbledore had been even older so her age was probably no obstacle. But who would teach Transfiguration now? Moreover, of course, who was the new "Defence Against the Dark Arts" Teacher? If the course, that lay on this workplace, would be broken, when Voldemort died finally.

It was all so surreal then she thought about the last year… the time they spend in the Grimmauldplace, how they lived in this draughty tent for months, her Parents who did not knew they had a daughter, the horcrux-chase…and three teenagers in the middle from all this, surrounded by fear, chaos and death. What was left over? But such thoughts only made her perplexed.

If she would really go to him every day, it would be better not to think about such questions. He was a –yes, why not? - a think she had to keep alive. That he also was a massmurderer, a devil; a beast did not chance her task.

She got no help on the next day too. Ash she had decided yesterday, she gave him more to drink when she came, she also gave him something in the middle-of her working time and before she went home. Hermione also tried to give him a bit more of tube feeding, but there were banns on the bottle apparently that made prevented the refilling-charm.

She could not help to feel angry. She felt even angrier as the second tube-feeding bottle she brought the next day clandestinely, disappeared in exactly the moment she passed the door.

Yes, the personnel really followed a line of thoughts so that no one could give the idea, to afford even a spark of sympathy to the most eerie patient in the hospital.

All they wanted was to weaken him, no doubt about this. He should not get even rudimentary enough food he'd needed to convalesce. The seer principle aggravated her. No, not because of him, only the principle that stood behind these banns made her angry.

Saturday, when Hermione delivered her hospital-wand in Claris bureau, was the first day Claris seemed to occur who Hermione was and why she worked in this hospital. More precisely said, the first time she talked to her since she sent her downstairs to Voldemort. Now she noticed Hermione and told her to accomplish physiotherapies on him.

„But I don´t know how to do something like this" Hermione interposed, who already had decided to go to the next library to make up for her failures.

However, Claris answer to this objection was a bored shoulder shrugging. "Don't sophisticate on him. You shall bend and stretch his arms, legs and fingers a few times. Don't make effort with this, there's no need for." But something else seemed to be much more interesting to Claris. "Does he already talk? "She asked in a tone as one would ask parents about her 15-month-old baby-boy. Hermione shook her head. „No, nothing at all. He´s only starring. I don't believe that he…" „What you believe and what not is all the same to me. Make him talking, that's your job you're paid for." Claris eyed her so suspiciously as if she thought Hermione would snore threw her whole working day. "He shall be able to talk and to sign documents at his trial. Furthermore, he shall be able to sit without keeling over. So, and this is your job. Get him to do this. " Issued General-Claris her command.

"But I thought I shouldn't talk to him" objected Hermione once more. "YOU shall not talk to him, HE shall talk to YOU" bossed the commanding-used voice of Claris to Hermione. "Yes, but how…?" Claris grimaced an evil "Your-Pigeon" smirk "Well, when you'll have to come up with an Idea. However, I am sure that cannot be a problem to such a clever young witch like you. You surely know everything about this too" said Claris with unashamedly derision in her voice.

No, Hermione did not know… to do physiotherapeutic exercises with mentally disordered ex-dictators was up to know no part of the Hogwarts-curriculum.

"Couldn't I talk to a healer?" Claris put on a face as if Hermione asked her to arrange a personal appointment with the good Lord for her. The grey-haired women met Hermione with disbelief, shook her head and pushed Hermione out of the door. "The healers don't go to him. You're in charge of him and you must go now."

That is the way it was… Shoved in a corner to be forgotten. Even the healers did not bother to do a minimum for "the thing". This bitter cognition guided Hermione in her weekend.

Hermione could not stand the loneliness anymore and so she decided to visit her parents. A long journey for such a short visit, but now she really needed dear faces around her.

Who would look after him on Sunday, when she was not there? Nobody, that was clear to her.

Full of proud Hermione thought of her parents who would never forget a patient in a dark corner of their doctor's surgery. No matter if, they deserved it or not, they took care for everyone who needed help.

On Monday afternoon, she was back in London, back in St.Mungo´s Hospital. A few Wizards stood heavily gesticulating in the entrance hall as she arrived, obviously discussing about something very exciting. Curious about that they might have to get upset about, she walked to a placard at the wall near them, which showed on moved pictures some first-aid skills. She could barley understand them, even she was very close to them, but it was so loud in the overcrowded hall so that she heard nothing but a single snippets of the conversation.

But one word she caught more thoroughly. The name "Malfoy!". As if stung by an adder she spun around "Malfoy?" she interrupted the wizards, who only now seemed to notice her. "The trial against the family Malfoy starts tommorrow. Didn't you get this? "cleared a slightly fretful looking wizard Hermione up.

Totally confused, the teenage witch shook her head. The man who talked to her was tall and heavily built. Now, she had a closer look at him she identified him as a healer. The first incarnate healer she saw since started to work here. But a nurse-helper was probably not important to him because he turned back to his colleges. "I'm sure they manage it again to get away unpunished. Everyone knows that Lucius Malfoy "donated" a part of his possession to by himself a clean slate. "

The both other healers agreed nodding. "I heard some more about this" reported a smaller one avidly. "He agreed to testify against his former death-eater friends."

He burst out laughing bitterly "But they didn't tell him against whom he will have to testify. Want to bet? I guess he's gonna be scared shitless when he's appearing before the court and sees our patient-x marching in." all three men laughed and even Hermione could not deny herself an evil grin.

She did not now why, maybe to cope with the oppressive silentness in the dreary room, but as she washed him, she told him (more to herself as to him) about the overheard conversation of the healers.
He still stared numbly out of the window (Everytime she was with him she turned his head in this direction, because she had the impression that he liked it to look there.) No reaction from him.

He really had to be mentally unapproachable. Lucius Malfoy who managed it anew to buy his way out of prison away, using betrayal, lots of hocus-pocus and lame excuses… this should this make him pretty angry actually.

Hermione meanwhile mastered the necessary handholds a bit better. Meanwhile she felt less fear.

Slowly but surely she was able to breath when she was in his room, at least when the trellised window was opened. But still, nothing came from him. Not a minimal reaction, not the slightest hint that could proof he noticed her attendance.

The only reaction was, and Hermione was privily proud about this, that his skin did not show signs of dehydration any longer.

In her free time, she haunted all the libraries in London to escape from her loneliness. If she took this task seriously, she could do something that made sense. To read handbooks about basal stimulation, or other techniques to therapy vegetative patients, for example. Muggle-Books of course, but what she'd read appeared to be useful, so why shouldn't she try it?

The thought of Voldemorts trial amused her. Yes, she would go there too. Just to see Narcissa, Lucius and of course, Draco Malfoy fainting with shock, when they had this unhoped-for date with Lord Voldemort.

Yes, and when they'd have to stand the dark lords evil eye, while they stood before the wizzengamot there they had do betray their former master all along the line… otherwise; they would have to spend the rest of their life in Azkaban. Well, IF he would be able by then to have the evil eye. But she´d plenty of time until then and so she brushed these misgivings aside.

At her breakfast next morning, she already saw the news because the daily prophet reported about the upcoming trail. Of course, Lucius Malfoy was not the only one who was accused to be a death-eater. And of course,… lots of death-eaters were not on the list Accused-list she read in the report about. But anyhow, the Malfoys process came first and such famous people like them was grist on Rita Skeeters (yes, now she was back too)

Hermione would have been very grateful; if anyone had told her then Lord Voldemorts Process would start. Helen said something about the end of September. Well, now it was May… who knew if he was still alive then? Probably he would, Hermione answered to herself… he seemed to do better.

Like every day, she did not see neither Healers nor other nurses on Voldemorts bed. Sometime she started to tell him about the report she read in the daily prophet. Not that he would listen to this, but her sage books told her softly speeches would function stimulating to his brain. However, was he brain damaged or captured in a stupor?

Not matter…she had to massage his hands (and was rather proud on herself because she endured it to move this bony, spider-like fingers for more than two minutes), after she bent and stretched his legs and arms. A bit of gymnastics could not wreak havoc, couldn't it? Nevertheless, who would care about it if it were this way? No one.

Although she took the gymnastics today, she was earlier finished than the days before. In fact, only two hours… she got better. Yes,…she was so proud on herself to stand this job every day, and to get better in doing it, that she now dared to turn her back on as she walked out, for the first time. She turned to the door and went whistled a jolly song while she rattled to the door.

„I know you. You're the mudblood that was on the way with Harry Potter and that knows it all better. Severus told me about you." Sounded the dark lords dreadful cold, clear voice behind her.

With a strepitous scream, Hermione keeled headfirst on the trolley, and pushed it along with herself loud roughhousing over. Full of panic she spun around und stared to the

Tremendousness, which lurked over there.

Lord Voldemort had turned his head to her and had a dismissive and moderate interested look down at her, sitting and wincing on the ground floor. "You will get me a newspaper tomorrow, mudblood. Now go."

With a quiet whimper, actually without wanting it, she nodded obedient and jumped up. A hectically wave with the wand and the plumped down objects sailed as fast as the hospital-wand was able to do, back on the trolley whom with Hermione walked, no rushed, as fast as possible, out of the room. So fast, she smashed with a loud crack against the wall because had no time to turn the trolley around the corner when she hasted out.

LET'S GET OUT OF HERE! IT´S ALIVE

R & R please...and make me feel glad :o)