Maybe
When Hermione woke, she did not open her eyes at once. Relief and apprehension flowed through her in equal measure. Not the monastery. But also not Hogwarts.
St Mungo's.
While the hospital stench she associated with Muggle clinics was absent, a distinct scent of herbs and potions pervaded the air, assuring her that she could not be anywhere else.
A dream, then.
Yet her hands ached. She blinked leaden eyes open. As much as her magic had become a burden for her, the emptiness without it, this bone-deep exhaustion, was not much better.
Twilight was creeping through the open window, the sun only a splash of muted red and orange at the western horizon. Her nap had obviously lasted much longer than she'd intended. In the far corner of the room Severus sat at a small desk, poring over a long letter typed on Muggle paper in the pure, white light of a Chakra stone.
Easy reading with Hermione-magic, she thought dryly. Environmentally friendly energy at its best. Enjoy it while she lasts.
She'd been on the right track with using the Lumos spell to measure magic, at least. As it turned out, while there were no mechanisms to measure magic as such, spells did exist that analysed the health of magic. For example, a dangerous complication of dragon pox was an infection of the patient's magic. One method of examination was to fill a Chakra stone with magic and to interpret the resulting magical aura. Hermione's suggestion to use the electromagnetic radiation more commonly known as light as the means of an exact analysis was accepted enthusiastically. Master Healer Hippocrates Smethwyck himself adjusted the original spell so it would transform transferred magic into light and Journeyman Healer Augustus Pye successfully adapted Muggle instruments to work in the magic-saturated environment of St Mungo's. Now the devices provided astonishingly exact measurements of intensity, frequency and polarisation of the radiation derived from magic. Healer Pye was ecstatic with the new diagnostic tool. Hermione remembered that he had been the one to use Muggle sutures to save Arthur Weasley's life after Nagini's attack. That way at least something good would come of this, Hermione reflected.
Throughout last week, Smethwyck, Pye and Muriel had tested her magic, along with that of various healthy and ill wizards and witches. This morning had heralded the next step of their tests. Hermione's magic had been drained completely. Only her core-magic was left untouched. As soon as her magic was up to par again, the process would be repeated. Of course there was the danger that this examination procedure would exacerbate her condition. But at the moment there was no alternative.
Hermione couldn't remember when she lost consciousness.
Now she lay motionless, enjoying the blessed numbness, the absence of fire in her veins, consuming her from within. The stinging in her hands was easy to ignore. And she was used to the aching hollowness inside her.
She watched Severus, the way he slumped at the desk, shoulders round with the burden of exhaustion—and responsibility, she thought; she knew he was even now working on the re-warding of Hogwarts. His hair was greasy with neglect once more. The beautiful light of her magic threw his profile into sharp relief. He looked worried and weary, and Hermione couldn't suppress a sigh.
At once his head swivelled and he was on his feet and at her side in a heartbeat. "You're awake," he whispered.
"Stating the obvious?" Hermione teased lightly. "Don't you trust Master Healer Smethwyck?"
"I am inclined not to distrust Mugwort," he replied, the corners of his mouth turning down in disdain.
"That's my Severus." She laughed softly.
"How are you feeling?" Automatically he reached for her hands. When she stiffened, he stopped, his fingers barely an inch away from her skin. He frowned.
"My hands." She grimaced as she tried to lift her hands a little. "They … ache."
He nodded and made to rise. "I'm summoning Mugwort."
"Not quite yet, please," she begged. Her smile, meant to be reassuring, faltered. "Time with you is precious."
He frowned harder, but remained seated.
"I dreamt of Perdita again," she said abruptly. "Or rather, Cordelia. I don't know why she is Perdita in my dreams. Are you sure that she's really a Muggle, Severus? In this last dream she told me to make my own wand." Hermione took a deep breath. "… of my finger bones."
"Of what???"
Neither of them was a stranger to nightly scares, so they tended to treat such occurrences very matter of factly, though not without comfort for the other. Still, the shock Severus showed at her words was somewhat gratifying.
"Yes," Hermione affirmed. "They were glowing in the dream. Like …" She nodded at the Chakra stone on the desk in the corner.
"Ah." Severus relaxed minutely. "That might be the explanation. And you have fixated on your hands ever since …" He trailed off.
For a while Hermione just lay there and stared at the ceiling, Severus silent at her side. Yes, she thought. That must be the explanation. I just can't seem to shake off that trauma. But why? I know what it is, how it came about. Why doesn't it go away?
Finally she allowed herself another sigh. "You were reading when I woke," Hermione said, decisively changing the topic before they had to call Muriel for her check-up. "A letter from Abbé Nihel?"
Severus nodded. "He suggests Pentecost for the blessing of Hogwarts. The day of the descent of the Holy Spirit. Heavenly powers bestowed upon humans. Furthermore, the modern Christian holiday has ancient roots in the Jewish feast of Shavuot, the celebration of the day God gave the Torah to Moses on Mount Sinai." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I have to consult Augusta Longbottom if his ceremony interferes with her solstice ritual."
"Maybe Voldemort won't come back," Hermione suggested. "Or at least not in our lifetime."
"Maybe," Severus agreed. But he did not sound convinced.
oooOooo
A/N: Thank you for reading, and please feel free to leave a comment. I'm always interested in your reactions and opinions.