Chapter Twenty-Three
The house had the feeling of having long stood empty despite the fact she had only left the previous morning. Perhaps it was the continued absence of her parents she could feel, the lack of family in what was obviously a family home.
Dropping the beaded bag on the hall table she hung her jacket on the otherwise empty coat rack and headed into the study. She was desperate for a long bath and anything that didn't resemble hospital food but first she felt obliged to let Ginny know she was home safe.
Sitting down at her father's bureau her eyes were caught by the magically filed copy of the last letter she had sent. She had penned it only a few days ago but unfolding it now, it felt as though whole months had passed.
J Lowry,
Please find updated calculations enclosed. I know you said not to bother but I've run the figures for the older data as well. I think the results are very interesting. I'm having to send this in two separate trips as the parchment rolls were a little unwieldy for the owl to carry in one go.
I shall see you at Wednesday's seminar but would be happy to call by earlier should you wish to discuss any of my workings. I'm not completely happy with the last two feet - hoping you can shed some light on the variants.
Yours,
H Granger
She replaced the letter with a sigh and reached for a fresh sheet. It was unpleasant to remember the endless weeks of research and calculation that had preceded her attempt at taking justice to Severus Snape. The dogged hours spent analysing and quantifying the properties of magical venoms in the hope of finding an Arithmantic common denominator that would, theoretically, render them interchangeable, either as medicine or potion. Of course, rendering anything down to its constituent magic would require Potions skills far beyond anything she had ever been taught at Hogwarts, but for the time Hermione had been content simply to immerse herself in the theory. Her Instructor had warned her that she was probably aiming her sights too high for her first project but Hermione had relished the demands of such a difficult topic. She had been able to lose herself for hours in study, often working late into the night, collapsing in her bed too tired to dream.
What little free time she had left was spent on her second fixation: helping Harry find justice, or at least recognition, for Professor Snape. While she hadn't shared Harry's personal reasons for needing some sort of closure concerning the unacknowledged hero of the war, the tragedy of his story had touched her at a very primal level. It had been Ginny who had finally persuaded Harry to see his obsession for what it was. But rather than sharing the fatalistic acceptance Harry had found, Hermione had carried on alone, writing to the Ministry, peppering The Daily Prophet with impassioned letters that remained unpublished once Harry's voice was removed from the story. The Quibbler, though sympathetic, was more concerned with what Snape's death was likely to mean for Vampire Registration. The Lovegoods it seemed, as always, had slightly missed the point.
Oddly, it had been Ginny, not Harry, who had taken the time to listen to her frustrated rants.
Ginny,
It seems I was suffering from slight magical depletion, but nothing a few days' rest shouldn't fix. After a very stern talking to the Healer decided to sign me off work for the next six weeks with "Exhaustion". Really, it's just a more employable term for war-trauma which in itself is simply a more professional way of saying "Bursts into tears at the slightest thing, becomes unhinged when offered Marmalade."
At first I was devastated; you know how important this Apprenticeship has been to me. Then I realised it was probably a very good idea. I feel as if I've been rushing from one thing to the next for years now, never able to settle at anything. Maybe a little enforced rest is what I need.
Mistress Lowry (still pathologically unable to call her Janice) has been very understanding. She suggested I go and spend some time with my parents but I really don't think I could go over there without trying to fix things. I think a bit of time alone might be exactly what I need right now.
I'll write properly when I'm a bit more certain what I plan to do.
Love to all,
Hermione.
Normally a long soak in the bath was enough to restore her spirits. Having been denied any luxury for so long during the now legendary hunt for Voldemort's Horcruxes it was things like hot water, nice clothes and a decent haircut that spoke to her restless soul. It had amused Ginny no end that the Dark Lord had managed to turn her into a girl where six years of Lavender and Parvati had failed. Now the hot water simply made her feel lethargic and light headed. It was too early to justify sleeping but she really didn't feel like moving. Perhaps she would take her duvet down to the front room and spend the day on the sofa.
Opening the wardrobe she stared blankly at the neatly arranged clothes inside. Every article was familiar to her and, if she could be bothered, she could probably remember a time and a place when she had worn each item. Even the smell, a mingling of cloth and washing powder, was familiar. These were her things, Hermione Granger's things.
She had finally got her wish; she was home. Yet somehow she felt more lost than ever.
Closing the wardrobe she pulled her discarded clothes from the hamper. A few more cleansing spells wouldn't hurt.
Dear Mr Weasley,
Thank you ever so much for giving me the permission to go over your old case notes - they were a huge help for my project and yes, even though I'm surprised any one other than myself would be interested in it, I'll be sure to send you a copy once it's been graded.
Were you aware that Professor Snape was behind the creation of the potion that saved your life? No wonder you and Molly were so quick to forgive him after the war. I guess it's just one more thing we'll never be able to thank him for.
Pass on my love to Molly and the boys.
Much love,
Hermione.
The discovery that someone else had not only considered the use of one magical venom in the treatment of injuries caused by another, but had also managed to use cleverly rendered venom in an actual treatment should have affected her in variety of ways. Firstly, she would have expected to be thrilled to finally have proof that such a use was possible. Then perhaps she would have felt the bitter sting of disappointment that someone else had researched the theory before her and had found a practical application for their work, a practical application that was far beyond her current capabilities.
All she had felt had been sudden, overwhelming fury. One glance at the hastily scribbled formula notes had been enough to convince her that she held in her hand the very thing that could have saved Professor Snape's life. The antidote to Nagini's venom and the terrible bleeding caused by the wounds the snake had inflicted had existed since her fifth year at school. So why hadn't Harry been made aware of it? Why hadn't Madam Pomfrey had vials of the stuff ready to administer at a moment's notice? And why hadn't Snape, of all people, been given access to the formula that could have saved him from such a horrific end?
Dear Mum and Dad,
Thank you for the postcard; Canberra looks lovely. Don't worry about not being able to make it back for Easter, it was only an idea. It makes much more sense that you explore as much as you can of your new home.
I managed to get my project finished a little early so I'm taking a bit of a break before starting the next stage of my apprenticeship.
Love,
Hermione
Her intentions were good but after five hours of daytime TV she found she could sit still no longer, especially not while certain things kept plaguing her. The worst was that final memory of Severus, his face contorted with rage as he spat her betrayal in her face. Oh, logically she knew that he had forgiven her. For him, their final moments together had been in the headmaster's chambers. There had been no anger in him then, only resignation and the terrible sadness of dying hope.
Professor,
How could you? You knew and yet said nothing. You knew who I was. You knew you could release me from the spell with a few simple words and yet instead you let me-
Should that matter when I loved you? Did you believe me, or simply take what I offered simply because you could?
She stared down at the scroll Healer Smethwyck had grudgingly bestowed upon her after extracting a promise that she wouldn't work on it until she had been declared fit to return to her studies. She had left it in her bag, determined to follow medical advice and to rest instead. But then she had tried to sleep and the dreams had come. They hadn't plagued her at all during her time caught in the spell and she had let herself hope that they might have passed.
Taking her duvet and a mug of tea back to the sofa she had decided to open the scroll by way of a distraction. It had certainly given her something else to think about but there was no way she was returning to sleep now. There, in Smethwyck's terrible Healer's script, was the amended formula she had carried back through time. Not just the rendered Acromantula venom that could act as an antidote, but the carefully considered additions she had hoped would blend together in balance. The potion that would, she had prayed, undo the damage inflicted by Nagini whilst presenting similar symptoms: the growing paralysis, the heavy bleeding that was countered by blood replenisher, the loss of consciousness followed by death-like pallor and a drop in all vital signs.
Somehow, knowing for certain that Severus had retrieved her letter from the fireplace and taken the time to develop the potion was worse than simply wondering. He had brewed his own salvation yet never known what it was for. She had still seen him die. Had seen the light fade from his eyes as they turned glassy and unseeing, staring emptily up at Harry.
Severus,
I might hope against hope if it were not for what you told me. That man was saved some years before that night. You thought I was there to save Mr Weasley, didn't you? Is that why you forgave me? You decided that my intentions were good even if they had led me to betray you? Until now I've let myself hope that maybe you realised that I didn't lie when I told you-
Or was it simply that any friendly face would have been welcome, even one you believed to be false?
The spell, that maddening Iustitiae Momento, should never have been able to carry her back into his childhood, even without a specific time to aim for. Even she had been sceptical that it could carry her as far as a year into the past, doubts that she had pushed aside in her determination to attempt the spell. It was only now that she was beginning to realise what she had done. She might have added to the potion to give the illusion the venom still worked, but the confirmation that Acromantula venom could be stripped back until it became a usable antidote and the technical details of how to perform such an advanced procedure could only have come from the spell.
Her formula had been used to save Mr Weasley; that was a very, very good thing. But what if she had changed other things, things of which she wasn't even aware? She turned back to her notes, poring over the figures. On paper the spell seemed as benign as ever.
The only person who could possibly help her was the Professor overseeing her Apprenticeship but she was loathe to disturb her Instructor. And anyway, what would she say?
Janice, could you look over these notes for me? I've been messing around with an unregulated time spell and might have unwittingly altered the events of the recent war. Bit of a pickle, I'm sure you'll agree...
Especially considering that it had been Professor Lowry who had unwittingly steered her in the direction of the spell in the first place. Though her course placed heavy emphasis on independent study there were still weekly seminars on the history, development and use of Arithmancy.
"We wizards first learn the magic of words," she had intoned. "We soon learn that to know something's true name it to control it. But to break something down into its Arithmantic constituents is to know the very essence of something. It is this that makes Arithmancy so fascinating to those of us that study it; what makes it capable of magics beyond the capacity of words and wand alone. It is also what makes it so dangerous if applied without very, very careful study and attention. There are no cut corners in Arithmancy, no short cuts that will not lead you astray.
"Take this spell, created by Theodora Ravenna in 1287 following her father's unjust incarceration in the castle that then graced the rocks upon which Azkaban stands today. Her interference did not prevent his arrest but it did allow for evidence to come to light that secured his release. There has only been one other recorded successful attempt, this time in 1812 by Angelique Delacroix. Yet at least seventeen lives have been lost to this spell. The dedication it must take to complete the workings borders on the fanatic and even that, it seems, is no guarantee of success."
It struck Hermione that Iustitiae Momento was Arithmancy's version of the Deathly Hallows; shrouded in mystery and legend, forgotten by all but the dedicated believers. Like the Hallows, the proof of this spell has come with the high cost of life.
"Septimus, my old Instructor, believed that it was the desire for justice that was key to performing the spell correctly". For a moment Professor Lowry's had dropped to a sigh. "We'll never know how close he came to finding out..."
The intended warning had acted like spark to tinder. Within a week Hermione had managed to secure a copy of every edition of The Quibbler ever to feature the story. The list of casualties linked to the spell did nothing to dissuade her and soon she had managed to track down every reference to the spell that was still in print. From that moment she had scarcely paused to eat until the spell was complete.
Thanks, Ginny, but not just yet; I'm still feeling exhausted. I promise I'm being very lazy and eating properly and all the other things you made me swear to do. Wonderful as it is that you're now allowed weekends away from Hogwarts, I feel guilty at keeping you away from Harry and your family.
She had taken a huge chance in allowing the spell to decide where in Severus Snape's timeline she should appear. All she had wanted was to find a safe time during that final year in which she might steal through Hogwarts to leave the potion's list on his desk. She had taken the Marauders' Map with her to ensure that she never had to meet the man himself, knowing that he would not trust her attempts to help. Somehow the wretched spell had picked up on that and sent her to a time when he was most likely to accept her, before picking her up again and dragging her through his timeline. Which was impossible. Spells weren't sentient.
Perhaps she should have confessed everything to Professor Lowry but the dubious legality of her actions kept her quiet. Though the spell was not illegal she had experienced first hand how tightly time magic was controlled by the Ministry. So instead she limited herself to poring over her daily copies of The Prophet and The Times, terrified that she might glimpse a story confirming that she had done irreparable damage. If she had saved Mr. Weasley without intent, who knew what else she had changed?
Severus,
I miss you.
Sometimes I can almost convince myself that the whole thing was just a dream. Waking up in St Mungo's, all my old memories resurfacing, I could easily have been persuaded that the whole thing was a bizarre hallucination, some symptom of the collapse I was about to suffer. Then Ginny brought me my notes, those pages and pages of Arithmantic calculations, all based around a half forgotten spell that had only ever worked twice before.
It's hard to remember how I thought of you back then. Your death was a tragedy but it was an academic sort of sadness. By the end of the day I had seen so much death that watching the light fade from your eyes on the floor of the Shack was just one more horror to be borne. It wasn't until afterwards that the nightmares came. I think it might have been that yours was the one death we might have prevented but none of us lifted a finger to help, too caught up in Harry's fast approaching destiny. I'm afraid that finding justice for you became something of an obsession. First of all it was getting your portrait placed in the headmaster's office. Then helping Harry lobby to have your Order of Merlin awarded posthumously. They were all Harry's ideas initially. Then Ginny managed to convince him to live in the real world and I was left alone trying to help.
There's nothing academic about my feelings now. I can't even begin to -
Her shampoo no longer smelt like home. Now it smelt like the opulent marble bathroom of the headmaster of Hogwarts. It wasn't until the water ran cold that she realised she had somehow ended up on the shower floor.
After that she began to use cleansing spells on herself as well. It probably wasn't wise but somehow it hurt less. Likewise, once she realised that the nightmares never followed her downstairs she stopped bothering with trying to sleep in her bed. She spent her days under the duvet on the sofa instead, alternately sleeping or staring at her notes, the television a constant noise in the background that barely registered. Occasionally sudden inspiration would seize her and she would take up her notes, re-examining her work and filling page after page with new calculations. She would scribble until both inspiration and energy left her, falling back exhausted against the cushions. Some days the only time she moved was to open the window to the owls and then to pen long enough replies to keep people away. Sometimes she would blink and realise she had been staring at nothing with no idea how much time had passed. Occasionally the doorbell rang but she rarely noticed. And then, finally, it rang and rang again, working its way into her murky thoughts and jarring her from her reverie.
She had hoped to ignore it, but Ginny had simply let herself into the house using magic and vanished the duvet with a flick of her wand. Hermione let herself be forced into the shower and had dressed herself in the fresh jeans and cotton blouse that Ginny selected for her. Her bed was remade, the front room tidied and her notes stowed back in their folder. Ginny had wanted to take them with her but relented once Hermione's cries had begun to scare her. Eventually she relented but only after warning Hermione that she would check on her regularly and that if she found Hermione wasn't looking after herself she would deliver her straight into her mother's hands.
Dear Mrs. Weasley,
Thank you ever so much for the biscuits - they were just what I needed to cheer me up! You needn't worry about me at all - Ginny pops by whenever she can but mostly I'm quite happy to have some time just by myself. I promise I'll Floo you should I need anything.
Lots of love,
Hermione
The walk to the supermarket took longer than she expected and once inside the noise was distracting and uncomfortable. She had only intended to grab some different toiletries then leave but it took her longer than expected to choose a new shampoo to try. After that she had wandered down the aisles, picking up anything that she thought might tempt her appetite or interest. By the time she reached the tills she could barely lift the basket. She took a taxi home.
Harry,
No, of course none of this is your fault! I don't know what Ginny has been telling you but you really don't have to worry. You know how hard I tend to work at things when I think they're important. I guess everything just caught up with me.
And no, it has nothing to do with Adam, either. I know you didn't like him very much, and while throwing myself into another relationship after things ended so sourly with Ron was perhaps not the best decision I ever made, I refuse to be seen as the sort who falls to pieces over a boy. It didn't work out. I don't think either of us was particularly upset, or even that surprised.
I'll come and see you soon, I promise.
Love you,
Hermione.
She hadn't even realised how long the back lawn had become until Mr. Harper from next door had offered to cut it for her the next time he mowed his own. She had been suddenly embarrassed at the state she had allowed her parent's home to fall into and had spent the next day dragging the lawn mower back and forth, terrified she might lose her toes and cursing her Muggle neighbours who were nosy enough to be suspicious of a magically maintained garden. Cursing them until Mr. Harper had knocked on the back gate and insisted on showing her how to do it properly. He'd then stayed on to divide the dying irises by the pond, and explained rhizomes to her until she had fetched him a cup of tea and a plate of Molly's endless biscuits.
Severus.
All I ever meant to do was sneak into your office and leave the potion list somewhere you might find it. The ridiculous coding was only there to ensure that only a trained Potions Master would ascertain what it was at a glance. I still remember puzzling over it with you at my side. I remember everything about you.
Once the garden was slightly tidier she had begun on the house. With the door shut it was far safer to use her magic but she found herself doing much of the cleaning by hand, regardless. It was oddly satisfying to return everything to its proper state. It was almost like she was rebuilding it all, piece by piece.
After that she turned her attention to the Muggle post that had accumulated unopened on the hall table. This had included writing to Adam and offering the first sincere apology she had been able to give. Looking back now she had never really given their relationship a chance.
Dear Ron,
I was ever so touched to receive your card. It really has been far too long since we last spoke and I can't tell you how much I regret letting our friendship slide the way I did. Although I'm certain that both of us knew from the outset that we would never work as a couple there really was no excuse for disappearing on you at a time when you needed your friends close by.
I truly wish I could turn back the clock, but what's done is done. I needed to find my parents just as you needed to be there for your family but it pains me that we never had the chance to reconnect after the madness of the war began to recede.
I don't think I'm quite ready for meeting up with anyone just yet but, once I'm back on my feet, I would love nothing more than to see you again and hear how you are doing.
You were such a large part of my life for so very long, I honestly don't know how I've gone so long without seeing you. I know you're not one for letter writing but if you could find the time to let me know if you think you could forgive me, it would mean the world to me.
Love, always,
Hermione.
It wasn't until she held up the queue in the Post Office by chatting to the lady behind the counter that she realised she was lonely. She had sheepishly paid for her parcel to be posted to Australia and headed out into the sunshine. Not just lonely for the company of her elderly neighbours or Ginny's watchful visits, but lonely for her friends and the Magical world she had fought to defend.
She cut through the park on the way home. The ducks on the pond were fat and sleek, nothing like the bedraggled specimens that had lived amongst the weeds of the canal at Spinner's End, yet their self-satisfied quacking cut her to the quick. She sped up, mortified to be crying in public, afraid that somebody might notice. Once home she headed straight for the study and pulled the heavy folder from its drawer.
Severus,
I have a secret daydream that somehow you understood that the potion was meant for you and that somehow you survived. But that's all it ever can be, a dream. Even if by some miracle Professor Snape was able to walk away from Nagini's attack, I know I shall never see Severus again. He only existed for Emma, didn't he?
Nothing has ever hurt quite as much as the pain of realising that I'd lost you. I'm grateful that I had the chance to know you, the real you, that you kept so carefully concealed. I'm glad I had the chance to tell you that I loved you and that you believed me, even if you also believed that I would resent you the moment I regained my memories. But it hurts.
For that reason this is the last letter I shall ever write to you. I'll always love you. I'll love the boy who rescued me and bought me chips and I'll love the man who was willing to turn to me when he shut out the rest of the world. But I need to forget you. The pain of holding your memory close is just too raw; I can't move past it. And so it's time to put thoughts of you aside.
Only Ginny knows about the spell and that I met with you, and even she doesn't know all of it. No one else knows how I strayed into your life and they'll never find out. All of your secrets will be safe with me.
I'm going to burn this letter; this and all the others that I've written to you over the last few weeks. I'm going to return to my old life, my real life, and finally let you go.
I love you.
Emma.
It took a long time for the pages of notes to burn. She sat and watched the grate, using her wand to rekindle the paper until only ashes were left.
Dear Ron and Harry,
Forgive me for sending out copies of the same note but, this being the weekend, I imagine you're together right now anyway.
You were right - though I'll never admit it to anyone else - it's time I started moving on with my life, the way the two of you have been able to. I can hardly remember the last year and I think it's more than time I started to create some positive memories.
I've decided to come to the memorial ceremony after all. I've spoken to Kingsley and he's agreed that I won't have to join in the speeches, or even sit at the head table. If your mum agrees, Ron, I'd very much like to join the Weasley table. I feel like I've got a lot of catching up to do.
Can't wait to see you both in your dress robes!
Love,
Hermione.