"Unlike other forms of psychological disorders, the core issue in trauma is reality."
~ Bessel A. van der Kolk, Traumatic Stress: The Effects of Overwhelming Experience on Mind,
"Anything that's human is mentionable, and anything that is mentionable can be more manageable. When we can talk about our feelings, they become less overwhelming, less upsetting, and less scary. The people we trust with that important talk can help us know that we are not alone."
~ Fred Rogers
"Few things help an individual more than to place responsibility upon him, and to let him know that you trust him."
~Booker T. Washington
The long, stone bridge leading to the castle was free from debris. It was completely in tact, from the low wall skirting the abyss, to the cobblestones she walked along, and yet as she marshalled her breathing, doing her best to follow Severus' brisk pace, she couldn't help but remember the ruined piles of bricks, the missing chunks of path, and the fallen warriors, whether of flesh or of stone, scattered about the road she now walked. The stark contrast between the memories surrounding her and the reality did nothing to appease her, and only heightened her frustration. The memories still rushed forth, and her fingernails bit crescent shaped indents into her palms no matter how many false assurances she repeated to herself like memorised facts. The entrance courtyard was worse as she kept herself from flinching with imposed rigidity while spells flew over the heads of the giant acromantula breaching the walls around her, breaching the barriers of memory with the same fervour their living counterparts had stormed the castle.
Severus noticed the rigid gait of the witch still rushing to keep up with his strides and kept his fists clenched, straining to keep his observations from devastating his shields once more where she was concerned. She had seen him far too undone, and returning to the Castle had flooded him with shame. The last time they had walked across these stones he had been her teacher. So he swept ahead and refused himself a backward glance at her stiffly following form as if to distance himself from the feelings that had swept over him as he held her closer than propriety allowed.
The staircases moved silently under the eyes of dozing portraits and Hermione kept herself from flinching, eyes sweeping for the malignant form of Nagini, waiting for the leaping lunge she knew logically would never come. It was okay. They were going to the headmasters office. The litany in her head continued as she saw the crystal balls Trelawney had lobbed long ago plummet to the ground, their shatter echoing in the words she repeated. They just had to get to the headmasters office.
Severus stepped off the grand staircase, his fiercest scowl sent towards any of the portraits who dared whisper to their partners as he sped through the castle, the sight of him, him, the perpetual dungeon bat and feared headmaster, tearing through the school with a witch in a white robe and engagement braids following in his wake. Still they whispered and despite his even breathing, and strengthening shields, he knew their reactions would be nothing to Minerva's. He put more distance between himself and the girl, as though it could stop both the whispers and the shame welling up beyond his shields.
Turning into a narrower corridor, the window's opaque glass intact despite the streams of spells glinting from the grounds beyond, Hermione raced to flee the flickers of explosions she felt sure were behind her, desperately trying to focus on the still, frigid air of the corridor as it entered her lungs in gasps. Ahead, the stone floor was immaculate, and yet it held the fallen form of Fred, the blood tracking in her footsteps as she determinedly walked on, following the man a full five yards ahead of her. She couldn't stop. They just had to get to the headmasters office. Harry needed to get to the headmaster's office and she was being left behind. The leaves and vines of the herbology plants thrown as projectiles had hold of her white robe as it curled around her feet restricting her stride. She fought it as she raced; she had to reach the end of the corridor. She had been left behind, the man leading her turned beyond the singed stone archway ahead. Her feet battled through the rubble on the ground until she too made it through but-
Lavender lay on the landing ahead, her form quaking beneath the rabid hulk of Greyback; she would remember the stained glass stretch of corridor anywhere, and could remember the stench of his breath as he held her close against him, as he made lewd grunts, grinding the insistent protuberance of his pelvis against her. His foul whisper against her ear, leering that she would be given to him once Bellatrix was done.
She couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe, and couldn't move and it must be because she was on the floor still, against that musty floral rug, soiled with her own piss and blood and tears. She couldn't breath because Bellatrix's knife was at her throat and she couldn't see because she was beneath the mad woman's wand as pain rocketed up from her knees and shoulder and all she could hear were screams.
It dimly occurred to her that they were her own, as arms came around her shoulders in a vice-like grip, and she had to fight them off but she was so tired, and the screaming continued. Her vision swam before her as a pale, tall figure towered above her, black hair and white skin, and she dimly realised she had fallen to her knees.
And she couldn't be in Malfoy manor, because she was in one of her nightmares.
Severus Snape kneeled before her, arms reaching out, and how many times had the image haunted her dreams, his throat a ragged open wound, his blood on her hands? How many times had he cursed her for her fumbling attempts at healing? Or worse stared at her accusingly, no voice left to rasp but the condemnation clear in his eyes as he cursed her for saving his life at all.
"I'm sorry. I did what I could. I had to save you. Couldn't leave you."
Unlike her night terrors, the flesh of his neck felt real beneath her fingers as she clutched at his collar. The wool was not the scratchy robe of her subconscious, but soft as down, a turtle neck and Hermione blinked the tears from her eyes in confusion.
"Miss Granger."
The black eyes staring down at her held fear, not accusation and she could never have imagined the stark openness of his expression. Her hands clung tighter. He was afraid; he was going to die, and her hands could do nothing to stop the blood, his own coming up to clutch at her wrists and wrench them away. She could see why, her hands were coated, dripping with the red congealed mass, and she struggled to release them from his grip, just as she struggled to breath through the sobs that racked her form. But he would not let go.
"Granger!"
She didn't want to hear another of his tirades about her stupidity, her failure and with a last almighty wrench her hands were free and she curled into herself, scrubbing them with all her might, desperate to clean them, even if it meant tearing at her skin.
"Hermione!"
He'd never used her name before, and Hermione gaped up at him, shocked enough to meet his eyes, and then she was falling through a deep tunnel.
When Severus had heard her scream behind him, his shields had held. He'd spun around, taking in the sight of her slight frame slumped against the wall of the archway, fallen to her knees, and though he'd reacted on impulse, speeding to her side, the occlumency walls had held.
It wasn't until he'd reached her, and seen her eyes, swollen with tears and staring at him in horror that they had snapped. Then her hands were clutching at his throat and he was swamped with fear and confusion, anxiety storming him as he heard her mumble about being sorry, about being unable to leave him, and the thought was so bewildering he reacted with instinct, calling to silence her so he could think, so he could reach equilibrium. His longer hands tugged gently at her wrists but she was still determined to hold his neck and his own emotions began to temper his reactions as he tried again- omitting the miss, because this warrior was in no way a student. Guilt flooded him, he'd been so blinded by his own sense of shame he'd failed to see the signs of her increasing panic. He let her wrists go and she curled in on herself, scrubbing at her hands and it was all he could do to croak out her name once more, desperate to return her to herself.
When her eyes met his in shock, he didn't hesitate. His own shields were in shreds as he entered her mind, making the maelstrom of memories and emotions that assaulted him almost smothering in their intensity. Flashes of Bellatrix torturing the girl, the werewolf Greyback's presence, and the castle under siege hit him almost simultaneously, swarming around the periphery of Granger's awareness. But she was fixated on him. Him, nearly dying in the shrieking shack, except there was not one memory but dozens. In some his corpse was barely animate, a gory inferni, but in others he watched in horror as he raged and screamed at the girl, verbally assaulting her for scarring him irreparably, for even failing, as she scrambled to save him whilst covered in his blood.
No.
Her consciousness seemed frozen as the memories rushed past, but his thoughts echoed across the images and infinitesimally, they seemed to slow.
That's not me.
Still the thoughts insidiously drowned him out as he stared at the caricature of himself torturing the girl with cruelty and sneers and he had to wonder if this was how he saw him. The deep silken voice of her nightmares drowned him out, as he tried to reach her once more. I'm here to help. It's not true. You saved my life.
The images continued and with his own occlumency shields down, he didn't have the control to stop his question spilling out.
How have you been able to trust me this far?
Of course, in hindsight, he should have known if there was one thing to bring Hermione Granger back to herself, it was asking her a question.
Immediately the images around him started to swim, and now he was looking at memories of himself over the last few days. They went fast enough that he was unable to glean more than snatches of the emotions that accompanied them, but there were definite overtones of anger as he stood silhouetted outside the burrow, then hope as she spun away from him on a borrowed portkey. Doubt as he shot back a swallow of whiskey in the Parisian bar, amusement watching him order at the restaurant, more anger as she stormed out of said restaurant. The images spun faster and faster as he saw his intent eyes in the mirror of the Enchantress salon and the emotions muddied further as she flicked through the magical journal on a muggle train until he couldn't decipher them at all, his hand entwined in hers as a symbol of a phoenix sparked through the darkness, the pair of them laughing on the shared settee, holding her in his arms atop the cliff top of the peaks and-
"Of course I trust you."
With the slight waiver of her voice, he was kneeling in front of her once more, seeing only the brown of her eyes; her hands still, finally, as they grasped his own.
"You were having a panic attack. I want you to breathe for me. Breath in for four counts. Hold for four counts. Out for four counts. Again."
Hermione felt moronic. She breathed through the counts, Severus still kneeling across from her as she leant against the archway and she wanted nothing more than to sink into the stone beneath her. He had seen her completely fall to bits and even now thoughts raced with what he had seen inside her head and what he must think of her.
"Good. Again. You're safe. You've come to see Minerva. She wouldn't let anything happen to one of her precious cubs under her roof. The war is over. You're safe."
Severus felt moronic. He was grasping for words and striving to reach for the calming tones he'd once used on students, Slytherins of course, in the interval between finding them distraught and ferrying them to Poppy or a prefect or absolutely anyone else because he was rubbish at comforting others. Yet Hermione followed his count and slowly seemed to return as colour filled her face once more. Whatever nonsense he was rambling was clearly working.
"It's a wonder Minerva wasn't summoned by the scream. She'll be on her way to curse me any minute."
The sobbing returned and the count was lost completely at that. Fuck.
"Shhh, no, it was a poor attempt at humour, don't-" His panicked scrambling was cut off as she finally spoke
"I can't do this. I can't. I can't go in there and convince her to help me, I can't help myself, look at me, I have no idea what I'm doing. I can't do this anymore." Hermione pushed the words of the defeat past the racking of her frame and only felt worse for them. How could she put back her mask of competence after this? How could she expect anyone to help her when she was this pathetic?
Severus was stunned to silence and the seconds trickled past before his damaged throat produced the gentlest of whispers.
"Then don't."
Her eyes shot to him in confusion and he slowly raised an eyebrow in challenge.
"I'll owl Weasley myself. We'll have you married by tea time." His voice continued as the fire he had become accustomed to seeing behind her eyes slowly kindled.
"You can become my apprentice and we'll continue the research. It's unusual for a married woman to apprentice, but such a thing has never stopped you before."
He knew it was working, and she was feeling more herself when the tirade she had slowly been building towards died on her lips, and a question burst forth instead.
"Why is it unusual for married women to apprentice?"
Severus shrugged, still eying her critically.
"Typically the master is a male, and the bonds involved are not… compatible with marital ones. Then there's the close contact the woman would share over a few years, close living arrangements and the like. It's not conducive to maintaining a relationship at the same time."
Her breathing was returning to normal, but her eyes now had a far away look and nervously, he found himself continuing to ramble.
"Vector never married, Aurora did but only after receiving her mastership. Minerva, it's not my place to tell, but she turned down a marriage proposal precisely to pursue her education. It's probably a large factor behind the lack of formally trained female potion mistresses in Britain."
"This could be another loophole." Hermione's eyes still looked far away and he thought she might be speaking to herself before she turned to look at him once more.
"If we hid the legislation… I'd need to talk to Kingsley, and maybe Percy…"
Severus didn't know where the relief came from, but it welled inside him until he became aware he was actually smiling down at her like an absolute simpleton, and he quickly stood before she could notice.
"Should we head to the owlery, or straight to the Burrow?" He lowered his hand towards her, and for a moment Hermione looked stunned, then seemed to brace herself, reaching for his arm and pulling herself to rights. Her tone was waspish as her lips thinned.
"Perhaps you should avoid poor attempts at humour." He grimaced and if, for a moment, his hand lingered around hers, neither mentioned it.
"What if we used Dennis' position as leverage, and asked the Board of Governors to petition for an educational decree. It could amend the law to allow students to continue their education without getting married even if they were of age, it would be their best move forward after Kingsley named and shamed them last night. A means of saving face. But then what if someone on the inside wrote it, and included a clause for apprenticeships?"
Severus wasn't sure when it had become a question of we, but the very fact she was resuming her foolish quest lightened him enough to nod pensively.
"It would definitely be something worth taking to Minerva."
Hermione took a deep breath and looked down the corridor. She still felt as though she were bluffing her way through all of this, with no solid plan, and everything moving faster than she could keep up with. But for some reason, despite seeing her completely fall apart, Severus had stayed by her side and, in his own Slytherin way, had not allowed her to give up. She stood for a moment, and he patiently waited with her, making no move to berate her or worse, mock her. She realised how right he had been, that whispered voice in her head as he witnessed the ridiculous visions of himself that her subconscious had constructed in order to blame her for her failings. That was not him.
This time, as they set off through the corridors once more, Severus made an effort to slow his stride, and walked behind the witch, letting the portraits mutter as they wished. She was nothing like a student, and for some reason, insane as it was, she trusted him.
