A/N: Just a piece of information for you guys, the updates might be a bit slow from now on as I've just gotten a new job and it's bone-crushingly demanding of me. But I can't complain, they're paying me good after all. Haha! But don't worry, I'm not abandoning this story, I promise, and I pretty much have the chapters written (unedited) so I'll try to keep up with it as much as I can.
For now, enjoy the chapter!
Chapter 23: Looking For Life
Hermione woke up in stages.
Initially, she was aware of a dull ache in her right arm. That was followed by numbness in her legs. The bedding under her was soft but her body was aching, as if she had laid on her back for too long, and needed to stretch her muscles.
She tried to move, to get comfortable on the mattress. But that shot sharp pain through her right arm and legs. Involuntarily, she whimpered.
In the background somewhere, somebody squeaked and she heard a pop. But she could hardly comprehend what those noises indicated.
She gradually became aware of the bone-deep tiredness that was exhausting her. Hermione clenched her jaw and willed herself to fall back asleep. She hoped it to be a weekend for she could not come to muster enough willpower to even move a muscle, never mind going to class.
She could hear nothing around, but her own breathing. Concentrating on it, she slowly sank into a restless drowse. Pain and discomfort eventually vanished as the daze overcame her, lulling her to sleep.
UUUUUUU
"-iss Granger?"
"Hermione?"
Somebody was calling her.
But Hermione was too debilitated to be bothered with who it was. All she wanted was to shred her fatigue, sleeping.
Was it her roommate trying to wake her up for classes? But they never roused before her. Was she asleep in class, then? But that never happened, not with her.
Then what was the urgency?
As blissful sleep left her mind, Hermione became aware of not only the voices around her, but also the pain in her limbs. There was especially a lot of pressure on her arm.
A hand came to rest on the shoulder of her seemingly injured arm, to which she whimpered.
"Miss Granger," the voice of a female was familiar, "Are you in pain?"
But she was too weary to form coherent words in response. Maybe if she did not react, she would be left alone.
"Of course, she is." Another familiar voice, now a man's spoke. "Give her a dose." The man sounded annoyed.
Next thing, she felt a cold rim of a glass vial pressed against her mouth. Someone was coaxing her to swallow. That, Hermione did, albeit with some irritation in her dry throat. In a wave of relief, the pain in her arm was gone. Even some of her aching muscles felt relaxed. She tried to say 'thank you' but speaking took a lot of energy out of her. She could always thank them later. For now, she would rather rest.
"Miss Granger, can you hear me?" Now, the female speaking was different, yet somebody she had known for a very long time.
She wanted to say 'yes' but could only manage to hum wearily.
"Invigoration Draught, I believe?" The first female asked. She received a terse 'yes' from the man in return.
Another rim was pressed to her lips. This time, Hermione knew what to do. She swallowed the contents that left a chalky taste in her mouth in contrast to the bitterness the last vial had left.
"Poppy, Minerva, Severus," another man, sounding calm, said out of nowhere.
"Headmaster," the first woman murmured. The other two voices, too, murmured something that Hermione could not exactly catch.
"How is she?" The calm voice asked.
"I have given her a Pain Reliever and an Invigoration Draught," the first woman said.
"Has she spoken?" The calm man asked, and Hermione suddenly recognised it to be Headmaster Dumbledore.
"Not yet," that was Madam Pomfrey.
As fatigue slowly left her body, awareness crept in. Why was Madam Pomfrey here? Was she in the Hospital Wing?
"Miss Granger?" Professor McGonagall's voice prompted. "Can you hear me?"
This time, she did manage to speak. "Y-Yes..."
"Severus, do you think she is cognisant enough?" Madam Pomfrey asked.
"Yes, I believe so," it was Professor Snape who answered. What was he doing there? Had there been a Potions accident? But he didn't teach Potions anymore.
Hermione tried to open her eyes but the lashes of her right eye felt stuck. She drew a sharp breath as the lid of the said eye felt uncomfortably heavy.
"Wait, wait, don't open your eyes yet, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey hastily said.
A cold cloth was gently pressed to her eye. It was soft and soothed her. Her lashes did not feel stuck anymore but the heaviness remained.
"Now, try again," the Medi-witch prompted.
Slowly, Hermione tried to open her eyes again. The high ceiling of the Hospital Wing came into her view. The vision from her right eye was a bit blurry, though. She blinked a few times to maintain a better focus.
"How many fingers are these?" Madam Pomfrey asked. Hermione turned her head in the direction of the voice, and felt another ache in her head.
The Medi-witch was showing her three fingers, though Hermione could hardly comprehend what was going on. Yet, she answered the question, "Three." Her voice came out a bit hoarse and nothing above a whisper.
"Yes, that's right," Madam Pomfrey gave her a kind smile. "Can you see properly?"
"A little blurry," she mumbled.
"Well, that was expected," the lady said lightly. "Nothing to worry about."
"Severus," the Headmaster said, "Begin."
Hermione's gaze fell on the other occupants around her. Professor McGonagall's lips where set in a thin line but she looked apprehensive; the Headmaster was looking at her expectantly; Professor Snape had his face set in his usual expressionless cold.
"Miss Granger," he said, stepping forward, "Answer a few of my questions to the best of your abilities."
Hermione looked at him with confusion. She was missing onto something... Something important-
"What is your full name?" The Professor asked.
Hermione blinked at him in puzzlement. Why was he asking her that? But at his raised eyebrow, she decided to answer. "Hermione Jean Granger," she said slowly and softly because speaking was exhausting her already.
The others, she noticed, leaned a little closer to hear, though the Potions Professor remained rather stoic.
"What year is this?" He continued.
Hermione looked from the Professor to her Head of House. "Answer him, Miss Granger," the lady said.
"1996," she replied.
"When is your date of birth?"
Hermione felt as if sitting before an interviewer in a Muggle primary. "19th September, 1979."
"Do you recognise the occupants of this room?" At her nod, he asked, "Name them."
Hermione did, naming the four staff members with their respective honourifics.
"What subjects have you opted for in your Sixth year?"
Hermione recited the five subjects she was studying, also including the Healer's training that she was taking.
The memories were slowly coming back to her, she realised while answering the next questions.
Pensieve... She had gone into the Pensieve... Professor Snape's Pensieve.
He asked about a few of the Historical facts, ranging from basic to complex. Hermione had the answers on the tip of her tongue and responded accordingly.
Something had happened with Malfoy...and other Slytherins. She remembered a confrontation. Somehow, those memories were coming in slowly.
She was then asked about some Arithmantic equations that she had studied in her Fifth year. Her answers seemed to satisfy everyone. But her own voice was coming in more tired whispers with each sentence.
Professional Snape's memories! She had watched Professor Snape's memories in the Pensieve—memories of...that night.
Next came the questions about the Order of the Phoenix. The questions revolved around her memory of the Headquarters, followed by the questions of the mishap of the Department of Mysteries.
Hermione was asked to read from a book that Madam Pomfrey held above her. Though her vision was a bit blurred, she read the text properly, though squinting a little.
She had to apologise to Professor Snape, she remembered what she had seen in the Pensieve. It all felt too much, too overwhelming with the questions and her memories returning, all at once.
"Severus, I believe that much is fine," Professor McGonagall said, probably having sensed Hermione's exhaustion and bafflement.
"No, let him continue, Minerva," the Headmaster said.
What happened next? What was she doing in the Hospital Wing? It was all in a blur in her mind.
"What is the last memory that you have, Miss Granger?"
There, Hermione froze. For she did not know what her last memory was. The scenes were all mingled, the voices, the people... She could hardly decipher the farrago of images that flashed before her eyes.
"I..." She hesitated. Exhaustion's took over her. Hermione closed her eyes wearily. She needed to rest...
The voices around her became a distant murmuring in no time. She willed sleep to come over her again. All the speaking had been so tiresome, even though she did not know why she was feeling so tired in the first place.
UUUUUUU
When Granger slipped into a sleep, halfway through speaking, Severus gestured Poppy not to wake her up again.
"There is no brain damage," he declared, feeling a rush of relief wash over him. He had feared asking every question that the response would be incoherent, that her answer would indicate to a memory loss or inability to process the words and find a solution.
"Thank Merlin," Minerva muttered.
"The scans, too, show nothing amiss there," Poppy seconded him.
In the last few days, he had gone over every such possibility and assessed his own potion brewing skills to see how much damage could he manage to undo if worse came to worse. But she was unharmed, at least in the context of her cognitive abilities.
"But Miss Granger seemed to have no recollection of the events leading to her...accident," Albus said.
They had still not included Poppy into the information that it was a suicide attempt. Had Granger spoken of it today, the Medi-witch would have inevitably gotten to know. But Albus, the ancient, eccentric man that he was, wanted to leave that to how things naturally unfolded.
Poppy had indeed seen to quite a few cases of suicide attempts in her long employment at the school. She had always maintained discretion, not letting the Ministry know. But with Granger, they were afraid, the revelation would lead to the existence of the bond.
That, Poppy could not know of.
"She will recall it in her own time, Albus," Poppy told him. "It is quite common, the confusion."
"When will she next awake?" The Headmaster asked.
"I cannot say for certain, but I will inform you," she said.
"Inform Severus or Minerva," Albus said. "I believe they could aid her far more than I can."
"Of course," Poppy nodded. "I will leave the house-elf with her for the time being."
Severus excused himself shortly after that. He was truly relieved that Granger did not have to suffer through brain damage. The prospect of such a bright mind damaged was too absurd to consider.
At least, she would remain the same person, albeit with an altered personality. Nobody could come out of such an ordeal unscarred, whether for good or bad.
UUUUUU
'...Your life is bound to Professor Snape's, but the same is not applicable the other way around. Professor Snape's life is not connected to yours...'
Malfoy backed her against a wall in the dark, dank dungeons. 'You, little bitch!' His wand dug into her throat.
She sat on the stony parapet, and looked back into deep darkness, craving for relief.
Hermione woke up with a start.
In the darkness of the room Hermione could see the images of the Astronomy Tower. The view below the Tower. The open ground.
She was panting and beads of sweat were forming on her forehead.
Realisation dawned on her, startling her. What did she do?
As she tried to cover her gaping mouth with her hands, a sharp pain jolted through her right arm.
She gasped and squeezed her eyes shut. The heaviness around her right eye startled her even more. She brought her left hand to her eye, trembling slightly. The skin felt swollen and warm to touch.
Did I really...?
But it all felt like a dream... A figment of her imagination, nothing more. She was only making scenarios in her head. How could she have...
But then, why was her right arm hurting so much? Why was her eye swollen? And her legs... What was wrong with her legs? Why couldn't she feel them?
Panic rose in her chest.
Did I?
The depth below the Astronomy Tower caused panic to ripple through her.
And she knew that she was only trying to refuse the obvious. Hermione was congnizant to what she had done.
She had jumped off the Astronomy Tower.
She gasped. The Astronomy Tower?
And she was alive? How?
Her mind began calculating immediately. The Astronomy Tower was about fifty meters high, which meant one hundred and sixty four feet. That was equivalent to being hit by a car at seventy miles per hour. She clenched a handful of sheet. How could she have survived?
It was not the fall itself but the sudden stoppage and collision with the ground that was fatal. But she must have hit the bare ground at once. Then how was she still alive?
Her mind went in rounds, going over her last recollections, and her reaction. Yes, she was feeling miserable. So, so miserable. But had she really jumped off the Astronomy Tower?
Did I, really...?
It was a miracle she was alive at all.
But somewhere within, she had known it for a very long time. When her thoughts bordered on precarious tendencies, she knew she had it in herself to commit something so parlous, so foolish. She was not daft, she knew how foolish it was.
Even now, she could not quite come to comprehend how exactly she had been feeling, the intensity of her desperation that...she had considered dying.
Taking her mind to her arm and legs, she knew she might even suffer permanent damage. It frightened her more than she wanted to accept. Suddenly, Hermione knew she was not proud of what she had done.
She closed her eyes and released a shuddering breath. It still felt like a dream. A terrible dream.
It was in the state of near wakefulness that she remembered seeing her parents. Hermione opened her eyes again, sleepiness having left her mind instantly as she recollected meeting her parents, talking to them.
She had hugged them, and they had told her that they were not angry... Did she really see them or was that a mere imagining? No, it had been so real. How could that have been a farce? She had felt their warmth, their scent, their touch.
Hermione had met them, yes!
She tried to recall the details of her encounter with her. They had told her how loved she was. They had asked her to...to live. They had sent her back...
They had sent her back. To live.
A lone tear rolled down her temple as their words echoed in her head. They wanted her to live a fulfilling life, to...see beyond the problems. Yes, she remembered their voices, their words. Their smiling faces. Their tight embraces. She remembered everything. It filled her with warmth. Her heart that had ached cold felt a blissful comfort taking over. They were not angry with her, they just...loved her.
That realisation lifted a heavy burden off her chest. They wanted her to live... They had told her that they would watch over her. Hermione smiled fondly at the memory.
And still, she couldn't remember coming back. That little secret that nature maintained was still elusive to her.
She had limited knowledge of afterlife or the limbo between life and death. But it was not unheard of. Near death experiences often took people to such inexplicable places, beyond one's comprehension.
With that, she closed her eyes, so deep in thoughts that she hardly noticed the little house-elf who was watching her from a dark corner with satisfaction in her big, yellow eyes.
UUUUUUU
Next when Hermione opened her eyes, she found Harry and Ron sitting by her bed. The two boys looked immersed in thoughts as they sat quietly.
Harry's face was marred with contemplation, he looked several years older than she had last seen him. Ron was pensive, no sign of his usual carefree self on his face. As if she had woken after years when they had grown up by decades.
"H-Hey," she said softly, feeling her dry throat scratch with effort.
Their heads shot up. A sense of amazement and relief washed over their faces, she could see their expressions softening.
"Hermione!" They said almost in unison, to which she smiled. She noted how her face felt taut as she did so.
"Merlin, Hermione, you gave us quite a scare," Ron said shakily, yet grinning.
"How are you?" Harry asked, leaning forward and eyeing her warily.
Before she could answer, a small voice squeaked. "Karly will call Madam Pomfrey." Behind Harry, Hermione watched as a house-elf popped away.
"Who's that?" She asked.
"Trust Hermione to inquire 'bout a house-elf first thing after waking up in days," Ron lightly joked.
"Days?" Hermione looked at them questioningly.
"Yeah, you've been here for...quite a while," Ron clarified.
"A while?" She mumbled to herself.
"Hey, that's okay, really," Harry said placatingly, then dawned seriousness. "It's a Sunday today, so you have the whole day today to prepare for classes tomorrow."
"Yeah, and we've made all notes for you, too," Ron added, just as seriously before the two lightly chuckled, making her smile again.
"I can hardly read from your notes, Ron," she said softly. Speaking was still a chore, it seemed. It was wearing her off quickly. But at least, Hermione was not in pain anymore. "How's Crooks?"
"Annoying," Ron said dryly.
"Ginny has him for now," Harry informed her.
"Oh, thankfully," she sighed.
But then she waited in dread for the inevitable question—why did she do it. She wondered if they even know if it was a...suicide attempt on her part.
But before they could embark upon that topic, Madam Pomfrey came rushing. Hermione sighed in relief. She did not want to answer their questions just yet.
"Miss Granger, welcome back," the lady gave a small smile that Hermione returned. Harry and Ron got up from the stools to give the Medi-witch way.
"How do you feel?" She asked. Then thought of reframing the question. "Are you in pain?"
"No, Ma'am," she replied. "I just feel...tired."
"That is because of all the blood loss," the Medi-witch told her. She withdrew her wand and flicked in a pattern that Hermione knew meant to take a patient's heart rate and pulse reading. As expected, a small, conjured-up screen appeared in the thin air. Madam Pomfrey studied it for a moment before vanishing the screen.
"Yes, your vitals are as good as we can expect right now," she remarked. "You have been very lucky."
"More like, we've been very lucky," Ron mumbled.
Hermione felt so selfish suddenly, having tried to perpetrate something so rash without giving her friends a thought.
The Medi-witch fed her three potions from standard vials. Two of them she recognised as a Nutrient Potion and a Strengthening Potion. The third one she could not quite recognise.
After that, Madam Pomfrey helped her head a bit higher and let her take small sips of cold water, which she gratefully drank.
"Now, here is an eye-drop for your right eye," she said, picking up a small dropper-bottle. "You do have some damage there. The drops will heal that."
She let two drops into Hermione's right eye, after which she blinked several times to clear her vision.
"You might need the aid of reading glasses for a while," she informed her. "But not necessarily."
"I can see just fine, Ma'am," she responded honestly.
"Well, tha is good, then. We will discuss about the extent of your injuries later," she granted. "For now, you must know that no damage is permanent."
"Thank God," Harry murmured on her behalf.
"Indeed, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey gave another small smile. Then, looking at Hermione, she patter her uninjured hand. "Now, you need to rest." She turned to Harry and Ron, "You two, you can see her later."
While Ron did protest, though in vain, Harry's eyes remained trained on her. She had a feeling that Harry's gaze held too many questions that he was saving for later. After some arguments and Madam Pomfrey's threat to practically deport the boys from the Hospital Wing permanently, they left. But not without a promise to come to see her again soon. When the boys were gone, Madam Pomfrey drew the curtains around her bed.
With a pop, a house-elf appeared by her bed, startling Hermione.
"Karly welcomes Miss Hermione back!" She squealed happily.
Hermione looked at her with some uncertainty. She had been rather unpopular among house-elves since her failed attempts at SP.E.W. But that house-elf looked positively overjoyed at finding Hermione awake. She couldn't help but smile at the elf. "Hello, Karly."
The house-elf bowed low, the gesture made Hermione uncomfortable. "Karly is to serve Miss. Karly is serving Miss when Miss sleeps."
"Oh, uh... Thank you," she said. The notion of a house-elf 'serving' her exclusively was horrible at best. She would have to talk to Madam Pomfrey or Professor McGonagall about it.
The elf looked horrified at Hermione's simple words of gratitude. "Miss thanking Karly? Young Miss be so kind!"
Hermione could never understand a house-elf's sense of servitude. It never bode well with her. She watched as the diminutive house-elf settled herself in a corner.
Hermione looked at the bedside cabinet, hoping to find her wand there. But except some vials of potions, nothing was kept atop there.
She rose her good hand to check the time, but her wrist was empty. She had fallen in a habit of checking time the Muggle way through Professor Snape's watch. She vaguely wondered if it was broken when she... For some reason, the thought of having lost the watch discomfited her.
Professor Snape—that was another subject she had to contemplate. Hermione had to apologise to him...and thank him, at the same time. She had no idea how she was even going to face him after knowing the truth...
Oh, God, how was she going to face anyone, anymore. Madam Pomfrey did not bring the topic of her 'fall' up because she wanted Hermione to rest. Harry and Ron, too, could just be procrastinating it for her sake. But her Head of House would not be so amenable.
Wait, wasn't the Headmaster present, too, the last time that she woke up? Oh, God, they might as well inform the Ministry. The Wizarding World did not take a suicide attempt kindly. It was, in fact, a punishable offence.
Professor McGonagall, Snape- Professor Snape and the Headmaster would not be fooled if she told them that it had been an accident. She had said in no uncertain terms that she would consider killing herself than living with the bonding. There was no way they would believe her if she now claimed otherwise, not to mention her abhorrent acting skills.
She sighed resignedly. She could still hardly comprehend what impulse had devoured her that night. Vaguely, she knew all that had led her into taking that step, yet she couldn't believe she did that.
She had no idea how she would even begin to explain her actions to them. For one, she herself could not comprehend her actions. She could only blame it on the series of events and her overwhelming sense of grief that had been infesting her mind for long.
At that time, ending her life felt like the only way. But now that she thought of it, she felt guilty, especially after seeing how concerned her friends must have been. They did not say anything, but their faces were open books. She recalled how her parents had wanted her to live. She understood whatever she had done had been too impulsive of her.
She still felt lost, but the screaming ache in her heart had been lessened after that conversation with her parents. It had been like a closure. She didn't know if her emotions would smother her again to the point of cracking once more, or if she was finally trying to heal herself. It would take time for her to come to terms with the glaring changes in her life—more time than she had thought it would. She knew she had still not accepted the situation completely. How did one accept such a change completely, anyway? With the passing of years, maybe they could learn to make peace with it. It would be a gradual process, she told herself. Maybe, she would have to convince herself to attain a different perspective for the situation with the bond. How, she knew not. But her parents wanted her to try. There would always be that gapping hole, but maybe with time she could learn to look beyond it.
Unbeknownst to the future, Hermione, at present, decided that she would not take liberties with your life again. If she could prevent it.
UUUUUUU
Later that day, Professor McGonagall came to see Hermione.
She had genuinely considered feigning sleep. But then she realised her Head of House must be concerned. So Hermione decided to face her rather than delaying the inevitable conversation.
"Miss Gra-" the Professor paused. "Hermione."
The use of her first name indicated how perturbed the lady was. Even her usually crisp tone had a hint of unexplainable softness. She looked older, maybe more than a few stands in her bun had gone grey since Hermione had last seen her. Her glasses perched on her nose but even they could not hide the depth of solicitude in the Professor's eyes. In that moment, Hermione could feel how her rash act had put her Head of House's years of dealing with students to test. She felt genuinely guilty.
"Professor," she said softly, keeping herself from biting her lip. She could feel the muscles of her face flexing as she spoke.
The lady stood there for a while, taking in the sight before her eyes. Hermione felt like squirming in nervousness, but she could not feel her legs and did not attempt to move herself.
Finally, the Professor lowered herself on the lone armchair that sat by her bed. "You have been exceptionally lucky not to have suffered any long-term brain damage. Sheer dumb luck, I would say, always works well with you, doesn't it?"
It took Hermione a moment to understand the allusion. She gave a small smile at that, more like a half smile for the right side of her face was gradually becoming more and more taut.
"How are you feeling?" Her Head of House asked sincerely. "And I do not mean physicality, that I can inquire from Madam Pomfrey."
That took Hermione by surprise. How was she supposed to reply to that? She could not much decipher how she felt anymore. She was not feeling suicidal—that was for certain, at least currently. Though after losing herself to such strong impulses, she did not know when that control would slip again.
Hermione wondered if her Professor would berate her for showing such cowardice rather than facing what was thrown her way.
When Hermione took long to answer, Professor McGonagall spoke again. "Can you tell me why?" Her voice was not accusatory, but hinted at unfeigned concern.
Hermione swallowed. How was she supposed to explain her everything... It did not happen in a day. The emotions were penting up in her for long. "Professor, I..."
Sensing her panic, the lady said. "Take your time, Miss Granger. Rest assured, the word will not travel to the wrong ears."
"The...Ministry?" She finally asked.
"What does the Ministry have to do with an unfortunate accident that took place within school grounds, and of its own accord?" She raised an eyebrow and Hermione could hear the mirth in her voice.
"Thank you..." She murmured, averting her eyes from her teacher's face.
"That was the least we could do, after failing you so thoroughly, Miss Granger," the lady said with honest remorse.
Hermione looked back at her, "Failing me?" She finally did bite her lip then and regretted immediately as the right side of her skin shot pain.
Hermione brought her hand to finally touch her face, something that she had been purposefully avoiding to do. Her fingers brushed on rough patches of skin on her once-smooth face. Hermione's stomach dropped.
"Don't touch it," her Head of House gently pushed her hand away.
"What...what...?" Hermione had never really cared for her physical appearance. But to find her face in such a state was jolting to her.
"It seems that while you fell, the right side of your body took the brunt," her teacher explained. "But these are healing well," she gestured towards her face.
"Can I...see?" Hermione asked, mustering courage. It would be better to face it rather than remain thinking of wondering about it in dread.
"Of course." The Professor Transfigured a hand-mirror from an empty potion vial sitting on the bedside cabinet.
Hermione took the mirror in her good hand and looked at her reflection. She gasped. On thee right side, her face was covered with yellowish-brown bruises and scars of once-bleeding wounds. Around her right eye, the skin was blackened. A similar patch extended from her cheekbone to her chin, crossing over her lips. The scar on her forehead—from her eyebrow to her hairline—was the most prominent and seemed to have bled profusely at one point. From that angle, she was hardly recognisable, if not for her brown eyes and bushy hair, that were now Charmed to stay away from her wounds.
Again, she realised the extent of her impulsive foolishness.
"Is this...permanent?" Her voice had taken on a steely tone.
"No," the one word answer released the knot in Hermione's stomach. "The salve that Madam Pomfrey has recommended for you will eventually erase most of the scarring, along with the bruising."
Hermione focused on the left side of her face and found it extremely white, indicating the blood loss she had suffered. How had she, even in her impulsiveness, not considered the flagrant disregard for her body that she had shown that night? She had read enough books on anatomy to know what a delicate thing a human body was, and moreover, she was sensible enough to know how fortunate she was to have had a well-functioning body—that was now half-paralysed and half-battered.
The face into the mirror crumpled lightly, her reflection blinked the tears away before they were seen.
Professor McGonagall took the mirror from her hand, and Transfigured it back into the glass vial. "Did Madam Pomfrey tell you about your your spinal injury and legs?"
Hermione looked at her with apprehension of what was coning. "No... But she's said that...it's not permanent."
"That's right," the Professor nodded with assurance. "But you cannot...exert pressure on her legs for a while."
"For how long?" Hermione asked, bracing herself.
"Two months, I believe, or more, perhaps," the lady informed her.
"Two months?" Hermione gaped. "But...my classes, my Healer's training, and...Voldemort wanted to see me before Halloween. I can't put Professor Snape in more trouble that I already have, if Voldemort got to know-"
"Hermione, calm down," the lady said slowly. "Everything will be managed." Before Hermione could fling herself into another panicked litany of sentences, her Professor spoke. "Riddle knows. Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Snape decided to tell him before somebody else did. He knows that there had been an accident, like the rest of your teachers and peers do."
"What did he... How did he react?" She asked. How did she not even consider the Potions Master plight! Hermione was Voldemort's spy and a responsibility of the Professor. Had she died, Voldemort would have punished the Professor. Even when her last thoughts before jumping were circling around her guilt regarding Professor Snape, she still did not stop to think about what more damage would her death have caused him and his position.
"That is for Professor Snape to explain, I believe," the Professor said. "As for your classes and training, you will be using a Wizarding...wheelchair, expect the Wizarding counterpart does not work on wheels. It is called a Charmed-Chair."
"A wheelchair..." She didn't know how to feel about it yet. Yes, she had contemplated that her injuries would not be minor. But to be confined to a chair made that dream-like night all the more real. "And my arm?"
"I believe that will be healed soon," the Professor said with surety. "Madam Pomfrey can tell you more in that regard. Until you can function your limbs again, the Headmaster has assigned a house-elf to you."
"About that-" She started but was cut off by the lady, "You will not protest to that, Miss Granger. There is no shame in accepting assistance."
"No, that's not what I meant," she said quickly. "But...I'm sure I don't need a house-elf-"
"Ah, the libration front, is it?" Professor McGonagall said amusedly. "Karly, the house-elf, is most pleased to be of help to you, Miss Granger. And you do understand that you will need assistance, don't you?"
It was a lost cause, Hermione sighed. With her plight, she knew assistance would be needed. She was currently even incapable of sitting up. As there was no concept of nurses in the Wizarding World, she would have to, albeit begrudgingly, accept the house-elf, Karly's help. But Hermione would make it clear to Karly that it was help and not service. "I understand."
"Good."
Now, with that out of the way, the question that still hung in the air became more prominent. 'Why?'
Hermione decided to get on with it while she could, instead of delaying. Her Head of House would not let the matter drop. Nobody would, in truth.
"I've been...feeling like it, sort of, since...finding Professor Dumbledore's letter..." She began. Professor McGonagall was listening to her intently.
She told her a little about how she felt regretful about not finding the letter sooner, about the loss of her self-worth. She told her Professor how she often found herself thinking of death, but tried to abstain herself.
Her Professor did not interrupt her but kept humming and nodding in between.
She narrated a little of how she felt overwhelmingly guilty after watching Professor Snape's memories, and then finding out how kind he had been to her from her Head of House. She described a little of her altercation with the Slytherins at which the lady's lips thinned in a line. But when she told her about her bout of magic, Hermione could swear she saw a glint of satisfied pleasure in her Professor's eyes.
She told her how with everything piled up, she just found herself at the Astronomy Tower with little memory or intent.
"...honestly, Professor, I...don't know what came over me in that moment," she said in a whisper, looking at a spot above the lady's shoulder. "It felt to be the only way out... A way to...release myself of everything, the bonding, the guilt... Does that make sense?"
"It does," Professor McGonagall said reassuringly. "While I wish I had practised more vigilance in your case, I do understand your reasoning." Hermione remained silent to that. She was feeling exhausted again after talking for so long.
"There have been faults and lapse of judgement on all our parts, Miss Granger," the Professor said more quietly. "We should have recognised the signs earlier." Hermione didn't ask who 'we' were.
"Maybe I should have talked to someone," she murmured, both with embarrassment and exhaustion.
"There is a lot that could have happened alternatively, yes," the Professor conceded. "But you are not to take the blame, not alone. I do not condone what happened, but you were not in the emotional state to think rationally then.
"But as we cannot change how the events unfolded, we need to focus on here and now." Her tone took up the firmness she was known for. "Miss Granger, I want you to seek me if ever those thoughts cross your mind again. If ever you feel overwhelmed in such a manner, I want you to come straight to me, no matter the time. I want you to understand that you play a role too crucial in the lives of so many people that it would not bode well with them if you leave. And I not, in the least, am referring to the Order or the war."
Hermione looked away as tears prickled in her eyes. Her Head of House seldom spoke like that. And the mere idea that she was, made Hermione feel so selfish to have not considered those who truly cared about her before taking such a drastic measure.
"I'm sorry..." She mumbled, blinking rapidly.
A hand settled on Hermione's good hand and remained there for a while until she composed herself back.
"I am hardly a person of philosophy, Miss Granger, but I can tell you how life can feel cumbersome at times. And it is in times like those that we need to share the burden. I need your word," her Professor said, "That you will come to me the next time you feel that way."
Hermione looked at the lady and nodded. "I promise."
A tight-lipped smile graced the lady's face up, and Hermione could not deny feeling a bit lighter to have let some of it off her chest.
UUUUUUU
That evening, Madam Pomfrey had to threaten the boys and Ginny again before they finally left.
Ginny had been gracious enough to have brought Crookshanks along, but Hermione could hardly pet him before Madam Pomfrey wrecked a havoc about 'No animals in my Infirmary!'.
So Hermione had to convince a very reluctant Crooks to go back and not hiss at the Medi-witch. She wished she could keep him with her. But she was well-versed with Madam Pomfrey's strict rules.
When she had told her friends about the wheelchair- the Charmed-Chair, she corrected herself, Harry and Ron looked mortified. But Ginny had said something about how it would feel like being on a broom constantly for the Chair would be almost floating in the air. Although Ginny seemed amazed by that, Hermione only felt as mortified as her other two friends. She hated flying, and that was hardly a secret.
She inquired about the classes that she had missed—much to Ron's chagrin, and asked them to give her their notes while she was still confined to the Hospital Wing. Harry had promised her to deliver them the next morning before classes and Ron had carefully avoided the topic.
When Ginny had returned from dropping Crooks back to the common room, she brought Hermione's satchel that contained her books. While Ron had slapped his forehead and Harry had rolled his eyes, Hermione had thanked the younger girl with a grateful smile.
While they were there, Luna and Neville had come to visit her briefly, too. Luna, on her part, shared her doubts about the involvement of a 'Heliopath' in her accident. The slightly nervous boy had given her a small bunch of fresh Gerberas.
Ginny and Neville told her how she was the 'hot gossip' of the week currently, and how rumours about 'Oh, ward of a Death Eater had pushed Granger from the Astronomy Tower' were galloping around Hogwarts. But while that was no good, she was relieved that nobody was suspecting it for a suicide attempt. Most of the fingers were pointed at Malfoy. Some of the more creatively skilled juniors in Gryffindor were even claiming to have seen Malfoy going to the Astronomy Tower that night.
Hermione disregarded the rumour to her friends. She stuck to her story of having fell.
Harry had looked less than convinced though.
After her friends were compelled to leave, Hermione asked Karly to help her retrieve her Transfiguration textbook from her satchel. She decided to read the chapter she had missed in class while she had the time before her exhaustion would draw her to sleep, though it was difficult to hold the heavy textbook with one hand obove her face as she was still not allowed to sit up.
It was after reading for half an hour, Hermione remembered something with a start.
"Karly," she said to the house-elf who was sitting quietly in a corner. She jumped up on being called. "Can you do me a favour?"
The little house-elf looked positively horrified at the tone and Hermione feared Karly might begin to cry. "Karly will do anything Miss is wanting."
"Er, thank you," she smiled briefly, giving another jolt to the poor elf. "Can you...go to Professor Snape and ask him to give you a handkerchief and the photo frame? He'll understand."
The elf beamed at being given a task and popped away immediately. There was also the fourth term of spending thirty minutes together, and now that she was awake, she hardly thought the bond would tolerate her waywardness.
She hoped Professor Snape would get the hint and perhaps come to visit Madam Pomfrey in the office. It might be able to satisfy the term if they stayed in close proximity.
She did not know how she would face the man ever again, though...
UUUUUUUU
Severus was already making his way to the Hospital Wing when the house-elf assigned to Granger appeared before him. The first thought that crossed his mind was of her medical relapse. But the house-elf did not appear to be panicked, so he pushed his naturally pessimistic thoughts away.
"Potions Master, Professor Snape, Sir," the elf bowed. "Miss Hermione is sending Karly to Potions Master, Professor Snape to ask Potions Master, Professor Snape for a handkerchief and a photo frame."
"I will see to it," he said dismissively to the house-elf, who in turn bowed and vanished away.
An hour had passed to curfew and he had beem visiting her at this time the last week. But Granger did not need to know that—ever, he decided.
Severus waited outside the Infirmary in order to catch any commotion from inside. When his vigilant ears caught nothing, he decided to proceed. It was the safest hour to pay a visit.
Slightly opening the door to the Hospital Wing, Severus watched that the curtains around Granger's bed were open. She was trying to balance a hefty Transfiguration textbook in her uninjured hand, keeping it aloft.
Trust Granger to catch up with her studies right after defying death. He shook his head.
But that was a better sight than what he had expected to find. He had thought of finding the girl staring into space with a morose face, as she had done back in the Come and Go Room. At least her will to study indicated her will to live. Or so he hoped.
He watched how her hand trembled under the weight of the book and huffed to himself. He flicked his wand in her direction and the book steadied itself in thin air.
Granger blinked in puzzlement before finally looking past the book, at him. Severus watched as a multitude of emotions crossed her face.
Her eyes widened and by habit, she bit her lip, then winced to have irritated the already bruised skin. Then, she bit the other side of her lip—and Severus had to bite his own cheek to keep from smirking in mirth at her antics.
She was finally awake, Severus found himself recalling her comatose state laying on the same bed for days. It was not a pleasant memory and it filled him with unease.
While he walked to Granger's bedside, her eyes followed him with anticipation.
"Miss Granger," he said with as much insouciance as he could, while taking in her bruised face and fractured arm. No, he did not pity her. Her appearance wasn't shocking either, he had studied the depth of her injuries already. But he had an urge to shake her thoroughly to instil some sense into her skull.
But he could not call it anger. He knew how the girl must have felt while taking the precarious step. He had felt something akin to that himself, after returning from his three-week-long confinement in Azkaban. Anger was the last thing she needed to be subjected to.
"Professor," she said barely above a whisper. She plucked the textbook from the air and kept it on the cabinet beside her.
Granger's eyes remained trained on her duvet. She was lightly wringing the soft material in nervousness. Severus dragged the armchair and sat in it. She was not expecting that for she almost jumped when he did so. Severus clasped his hands to show some semblance of nonchalance. Clearly, his presence was discomfiting to her.
He decided to dwell on more casual topics initially. "I hope you are satisfied with the potions recommended to you."
Granted, he was not meant for making casual conversations.
"Yes, Sir," she mumbled, blinking too much and looking anywhere but at him in her discomfort.
He spotted a bunch of flowers kept by her side. "Gerberas?"
Granger glanced towards the bunch and nodded. "Neville brought them," she said just as softly, still not meeting his eyes.
"I comprehend that Mr. Longbottom is at least competent at Herbology, then," he said callously, inwardly telling himself that berating her friends was not a favourable topic to commence the conversation with.
"He is very good at Herbology, in fact," she hastily came to the boy's defence.
"Do you know what is the significance of Gerberas?" He asked. What was better than a test of knowledge to put Granger at ease?
For a brief moment, she remained silent and Severus had a feeling she was too ill at ease to speak quite so nonchalantly to him, until she did speak. "Gerbera stems from the family of Daisies," Granger flung into reciting all that she knew of the plant. "They generally represent innocence, purity and cheerfulness. Cheerfulness is attributed to the numerous colours they come in. The Celts believed them to lessen everyday stressors."
"Five points to Gryffindor, Miss Granger," he drawled, and the girl snorted lightly. That seemed to have broken the ice or at least the crust.
Severus fished out a white handkerchief and a small photo frame from his robe. Even after about three months of following the routine of sending the items to her, he still felt arrant uneasy asking the girl to satisfy the terms.
"I don't have my wand," she said in a mumble.
"I have it," he said. "And before you ask to have it back, I would like you to reconsider your request."
Granger swallowed. "I understand," she complied immediately.
Severus had expected an argument at the very least. Was that a sign of meekness or genuine understanding of the consequences? He wished for the latter.
"Though you may have it for the purpose of spelling these clean," he amended. Severus handed her wand to her that he had stored in his sleeve, along with his own. She took it in her left hand and fingered the wood gently.
He presented the items one by one and Granger spelled them clean. Left was her unfavourable wand-hand, he recognised by the less than fluent wand movements. When the said items were cleaned, she dutifully handed her wand back.
While Severus kept the items and her wand away, Granger seemed to have congregated some will, as she spoke. "Sir?"
He looked at the girl who was eyeing him with trepidation. Severus raised a brow in question.
"I...I wanted to apologise," her words, though hesitant, were spoken with earnestness. "And also thank you for-"
"You have said enough in your letter, Miss Granger. There is no need to repeat yourself," he said dismissively. She seemed to have forgotten about the letter as she looked floored at its mention.
"You read that..." She whispered to herself.
"I believe it was addressed to me," he said simply, as if it was just another mail he received at breakfast.
"Did anybody else?" She asked quietly.
"No," he replied and watched as she sighed in relief.
He did not need to ask her why she did what she had. Reasons he was aware of, all too well. What he had to do was to persuade her not to do it again—ever.
"Vol- Tom Riddle," she said out of nowhere, "How did he take the news? Professor McGonagall told me..."
"The Dark Lord was led into believing that your...state of infirmity would work to manipulate Potter into spending more time with you," he outlined for her.
"You tricked him?" She looked amazed. "Of course, you did... Again, I mean..."
He got where the allusion was leading to. "I am hoping that it might grant us more time before you are summoned."
"Alone?" She gasped.
He frowned. "No."
"Oh, thank God," she sighed. "I'll definitely be discovered in a moment that way."
"As virtuoso as you are at acting," he added sarcastically. That earned a soft chuckle from the girl. Severus vaguely decided a chuckle suited her more than coldness. "Are you able to access your Shields?"
"I haven't tried yet," she replied, biting her lip but stopping before her teeth sunk into the bruised part. That might get her rid of the habit.
"Try, if you can," he leaned back in his chair. "Only erect the Shields. I will not Legilimize you."
"Alright." She closed her eyes and Severus watche as her expressive face closed with subtlety. When she opened her eyes again, they exuded nothing.
"I can," she said futilely for it was evident to him.
"So I can see," he said. "You may drop them." At the moment, she was not to suppress herself anymore. He again watched as she closed her eyes and after only a moment, her face transformed from icy to soft. Her eyes, once again, reflected exactly what she felt, like clear mirrors that granted him a peek inside the mind that was Hermione Granger.
Her Shields were quite strong to have such an impact. Now, if only she learnt to keep some specific memories above, the Dark Lord would be trapped in their subterfuge.
Then Granger's face took up a pensive hardness. She averted her eyes back to the duvet. He knew she would not confide in him, that was why Minerva was there earlier in the day. His colleague had discussed all that Granger had told her, even about Malfoy and the other Slytherins. But Severus could not implement measures against them so as to keep his cover, no matter how much he wanted to. But certainly Minerva could, in the garb of assigning punishment for some other foolishly devious deed the brat would soon enough commit—or would be led into committing.
But Granger would not take well for him to discuss about it with her. He was not a confidant. But he could try to say something that made a difference if she ever found herself with such tendencies again.
"Miss Granger." She came out of her reverie and turned her head to face him. "Now that I have been cognizant to your personal life through the Occlumency sessions, I feel that it is only prudent if I apprise you of some anecdotes from my life, as well."
"Sir?" She blinked, nonplused.
"As you might already know," he began, "I am a Half-blood. Though my Mother, Eileen Prince was a Pureblood witch."
"Your mother was a witch?" Granger looked shocked.
He frowned.
"No, I...just guessed that...your father was a wizard instead..." She quickly said.
"No, my Father was a Muggle," he explained. "My Mother had graduated from Hogwarts. She was an exceptional witch by talent and prowess."
Granger's eyebrows furrowed in some kind of confusion. But he ceased to question her and continued.
"But by some twisted game of fate, she ended up marrying a Muggle, Tobias Snape, my Father." Calling Tobias his Father left a bitter taste in his mouth. "My Father was less than tolerant towards magic, though he was well-aware of my Mother's powers before the marriage. That resulted in a life for my Mother that ranged from tough to unbearably disconsolate."
He paused for a moment, evaluating whether he should reveal the next part or not. But Granger was not a child, and for her to understand where he was leading her to, he needed to tell her. "After he lost his job at the mill, verbal and physical abuse became commonplace in my household. He bagan baselessly alleging my Mother's magic to be the reason of his misfortune."
Granger gaped and furrowed her eyebrows but did not look as shocked as he had expected. Potter. The Potter brat must have, after all, revealed what he had seen in his disastrous Occlumency lessons. Otherwise, a girl coming from a home such as that of the Grangers was obvious to be appalled by revelations as such.
However, he continued, keeping his face and voice stoic. "My Father was a slave to intemperance. Seldom could one find him to be sober after Seven. With his dipsomania, came his misogyny. So you can imagine my Mother's plight during the twenty years she was forced to spend with my Father."
"But then, why didn't she just leave him?" Granger asked in disbelief.
That was the question he was waiting for. Because in that answer, laid a key for Granger.
"Because she had accepted her remorse to be a part of her being," Severus kept his voice devoid of emotions. "She began blaming herself and her magic for my Father's shortcomings. After a certain point, she began losing herself and slipping into depression." He looked at Granger who was listening to him intently. "Do you know what happens when a witch—or wizard—starts believing so firmly in something?"
At her silence, he spoke, "It becomes a reality. By constantly blaming her magic for things she did not have control over, one day she lost her magic, forever."
Granger gasped.
"But it was not only her magic that left her," he continued gravely, "It was also her will to live."
Granger clutched her duvet in her hand tightly. "Did she, too...?"
"No," he leaned forward slightly, "She did not do what you did, or rather tried to. But it happened on its own accord."
At her bafflement, he said, "My Mother's body was found one morning, some years after she lost her magic. There was absolutely no comprehensible cause of death." Severus looked directly into her eyes, "She just gave up on life."
Granger's breath hitched in her throat and her uninjured hand came to cover her mouth that was gaping in shock.
"I did not tell you that to gain your pity," he went on, erecting his Shields strong. "I told you so that you could analyse where the similarities lay."
She didn't speak a word, only moved her gaze to the duvet.
"Sometimes, I imagine how different her life would have been," he said, "Had she not given up. Perhaps, she would have been a high-ranking Ministry official or a Charms-inventor, as gifted as she was."
He had never spoken of his Mother in such an open manner. He had always maintained secrecy, even to his own self at times for those recollections brought back a litany of all that he wanted to forget.
But revealing those memories to Granger did not make him feel vulnerable. Partly because he had witnessed too much of her life, and partly because he was somehow certain that he would neither be judged nor would the words spoken today reach a third set of ears.
Severus let his words sink in, and neither of them spoke after that. Brevity was the key. It would be better if she drew her own conclusions from what he had told her.
But the long silence did not grow uncomfortable while Granger contemplated his words, and Severus sat by her side, hoping his words would save one Hermione Granger from the fate Eileen Prince had suffered.
A/N: A super long chapter to make up for the super long wait. It was hard to write, honestly. I couldn't figure out what exactly would someone say in such a situation.
Also, I hope I've not over-exaggerated on her medical condition (bruises and scars and the problem with walking). I think after that horrible fall, it's only natural that she suffer some physical discomfort. I also hope my descriptions are not hurting anybody's sentiments. Being on a wheelchair, I understand, is a disability. My intentions are not to take that matter lightly by any means.
Hope you like it. Looking forward to hear from you! :)
To Haive: Hola, gracias por leer y gustar mi historia! Todavía no he decidido que estén huyendo o incluso sobre los Horrocruxes. No creo que quiera incorporar esa parte, porque después de todo ya lo hemos leído en el canon. Te pediría que sigas leyendo para saber a dónde lo llevo. Esperamos saber más de ti.