Hermione tapped her foot nervously until Snape's steadying hand on her knee halted all motion. She glanced at him, disgruntled, only to be met by an amused little smile playing on his lips.

"I'm glad one of us is enjoying himself," she bit, out of anxiety rather than actual anger.

His smile faded. "I'm not," he said sincerely. "I apologize."

Now she felt badly. She opened her mouth to explain her tone, but the door to the waiting room opened and Hermione's nerves took a nose dive.

They needn't have.

Hermione was treated by the sight of the smiling, round, white-frosted nurse she'd met a little over a month ago. "Delia!"

The girl beamed and enveloped Hermione in a hug that nearly crushed her ribcage. "How are you, my girl?"

"I'm just fine," Hermione replied. It struck them both that it was an odd answer, considering where they were currently standing, but neither chose to comment. "And you? What brings you to this particular wing of the hospital?"

Delia smiled brightly. "Why, you do, girl!"

Hermione's own smile faltered. "I...what?"

Delia nudged Hermione's shoulder playfully. "I'm going to be your...adviser, let's call it. It's not necessarily what I was hired to do, but I am trained in it, and your Professor here sought me personally. How could I refuse?"

Hermione's spirits soared at Delia's words, until the conversation turned towards the surly man beside them, and then her spirits halted, uncertain. Hermione turned to Snape, whose face was as stony as ever, but whose mouth was a little tighter than usual. "You...you asked for Delia? For me?"

He bowed his head lightly, out of embarrassment at being called to attention, and in her mind's eye, Hermione pictured him kicking at the ground like a chastised child. "Professor McGonagall had mentioned that you'd grown rather close to a member of the staff, and I merely inquired as to whether or not the nurse in question was interested or not." He lowered his voice, but looked at Hermione with such an honest concern that it floored her. "I thought it was what you'd want."

Hermione wanted to hug him. Quite literally, she wanted to throw her arms around the same snarky, cruel Bat whom, on many occasions had made her want to curse him in the past. Reasoning that that much emotion might send the man into epileptic shock, she settled with a hand on his forearm. Even at this he stiffened, unaccustomed to it, but he didn't pull away so she held fast.

"Thank you," she said simply, and her wide toffee eyes told him she meant it wholeheartedly.

He swallowed the inopportune squeal of joy that bubbled in his chest at her gratitude, and replied, "You're quite welcome, Hermione."

Neither noticed, nor choice to comment, on the fact that it was the first time he'd addressed her by her first name.

-BREAK-

"So, my girl, where shall we start?" Delia purred as she settled back into the vinyl chaise lounge.

Hermione sat opposite her and gulped. Sure, it was nice to see Delia, but that didn't mean she wanted to talk. She would never want to talk.

So she shrugged.

And Delia furrowed her brow. "Look, I know you don't want to be here, regardless of who sits in front of you." She spoke over Hermione who'd opened her mouth to protest. "But the fact of the matter is that now these sessions mandatory, and really quite crucial to your health. So, talk."

Hermione bit her lip. "I truly don't know what it is you're all trying to get me to say," she murmured at last. "I've done everything right. I've done all you've asked of me. I'm even here, against my better judgment. And still, not one person will concede to the fact that I might actually be fine!" Hermione leaned forward and took control of the conversation. "Why, pray tell, is that?"

Delia leaned forward, challenging her, and stole the conversation right back. "You're here because you're a good little actress, but that's all this is. An act. We've been trained, Hermione—or at least I've been—and your professors have seen traumatized students before. Perhaps you're giving them a run for their money, but that's all you're doing and while you're spending so much time outrunning everyone around you, you're the only one not paying attention to the issue at hand, which is your truly fragile mental health."

Hermione leaned back, appropriately chastised, and Delia softened her tone. She patted Hermione's leg affectionately. "Please understand that we wouldn't be pushing it if we didn't think you needed to talk. But your health depends on this." Then, she studied Hermione. She witnessed the way the girl's dress hung a little too loosely, how her cheeks sunk a little too deeply, and furrowed her brow. "Perhaps your health is in a more precarious state than we've realized."

Hermione glanced down and tugged at her dress, but said nothing. She sighed. "I'm sorry," she muttered, and lowered her eyes because she hated admitting defeat. "I know you're all trying to help. I'd just prefer to handle it in my own way."

Delia nodded gently. "If that were possible, we'd love to see it. But it's quite obvious that your own way is rather harmful to you," she said, gesturing towards Hermione's withering body. "When's the last time you've eaten?"

Hermione opened her mouth, and then shut it when words eluded her. Finally, she murmured, "Well, I can't tell you precisely…but I've eaten. You know, recently."

Delia cocked an eyebrow. "Run me through an average day. And don't lie."

Hermione shrugged. "Sometimes there's oatmeal in the mornings, and maybe a sandwich for lunch. And chicken, for dinner. Something like that."

Delia's eyebrow rose even further.

Hermione lowered her head. "Well, sometimes I don't eat it all…"

"I'd say that occurs more frequently than not," Delia murmured.

Hermione stared intently at the floor.

Delia leaned forward. "This is good, Hermione, this is progress. Can you tell me why it is you don't eat? What happens at mealtimes, what do you think of, that changes your mind?"

Hermione closed her eyes. In truth, she hadn't realized how consistently she'd been skipping meals. Surely her clothing was looser, and she could count more of her ribs when she bathed. But she'd attributed that to stress. "Truthfully, I don't know," she muttered. "I guess…I don't know, I can control it. It's never been a conscious decision, mind you; I'd never do that. But…it's the only thing that's been totally up to me since I returned to school. It felt better to focus on a different sort of pain."

She could've slapped herself. Even Delia, the professional, weakened at the pain in Hermione's voice. Hermione hadn't known that was in her. She furrowed her brow. She didn't like this. She'd always known herself so well; she was extremely good with self-perception. Now, she was discovering aspects of herself under the scrutiny of another and it all felt artificial.

Hermione shut her mouth before she could dig a bigger hole.

Delia, however, nodded at Hermione's pronouncement. "I can't tell you how common eating disorders become as a result of trauma. You're using it as a coping mechanism; when the rest of your life is chaotic, at least you know this is one thing you can control."

Hermione nodded, despite herself.

"I'm going to prescribe you a diet, and I'll have Professor Snape see that you stick to it," Delia murmured.

Hermione weighed her options, and realized arguing wouldn't get her anywhere. So she nodded in the hopes that they were wrapping up.

Of course not.

"Let's get to the harder stuff, shall we?" Delia continued.

Hermione groaned audibly, and it was ignored.

"I hear there was another incident in class last week," she muttered. "Tell me about that."

Hermione chose her words carefully. "It was something called Vodoun. Professor Snape explained it as an ancient branch of Earth magic that allows you to manipulate whomever you're trying to curse as long as you've got a belonging. It's very complicated." She trailed off there.

Delia furrowed her brow. "That was a textbook answer, if I ever heard one." She leaned forward. "Tell me what happened to you."

Hermione sighed, and threw her eyes to the floor, not allowing them to move until she'd finished. "I was confused. I felt something in my stomach, at first. It was sharp, but it was quick, so I ignored it. But it moved to my thigh. And then…well, you know, farther." She steadied her breathing with effort, and Delia waited silently. "It felt—it felt just like that night. But I couldn't see anything, I saw air—only space."

Delia nodded. "How did you react to that? How, truly, do you feel?"

Hermione glanced up, finally, into the eyes of her friend who wanted nothing more than to be assured of her health. She found one word to sum it all up. "Exposed," she breathed.

Releasing it into the air did loosen the tension in her chest a bit.

Delia nodded. "I'm not surprised. Continue."

Hermione's breathing was shallow, now. She was nearly panting. "I thought it was over. Truly, unmistakably over. And then that, in the middle of class. It brings a new meaning to the word vulnerable. I just…I want to be assured that it's over with."

Delia nodded. "And when do you think that will happen for you?"

Hermione raised her eyes then, and they were as steely as honey-brown eyes could be. "When they're either imprisoned, or dead."

Author's Note: I'm baaack! I'm incredibly sorry for the wait, I've been in school and it's as crazy as ever. Please review, and I promise not to take so long in the future!