AN: Thank you for all the support! It is very deeply appreciated!
Some nights, Hermione could feel the pain of the treatments coursing through her left leg, hear the healers barking out spells, see the look of sheer fascination on the medical students' faces, and smell the stench of antibacterial potion mixed with singed flesh. Then, all around her would calm, the room filled with a sacred silence. In that stillness, a healer would speak to her as if she was a six year old preparing for nap time. For the next twenty-four hours she'd need to be off her leg, a direction simple enough to follow given the agony and nausea engulfing her body. She'd come back a week later, where a healer eager to publish in an academic journal would investigate their handiwork. Upon viewing their failure, they would try a new round of treatments, and the vicious cycle would continue.
Treatment after treatment, the healer was disappointed. Not only did her leg continue to tremble and spasm, but after some treatments it was worse. Healers were some of the most persistent people she'd ever met. There was always another treatment, some new spell which hadn't been tried yet. Muggles cut people up, but Wizarding medicine was better, with a perfect track record of curing conditions such as hers. If she had faith in Wizarding medicine, it would be as if she'd never been cursed. After the next treatment, her life would be as it was before the war, if only she had faith in their magic…
The knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. She took a shaky breath and forced herself to smile. Then, she wiped her face, only to realize no tears had fallen in the last few minutes. So many tears had been spent there were none left for her latest failure.
"Hermione?"
"Come in," Hermione's stomach sank. It was difficult enough for her to wrap her mind around what had occurred. Explaining to Severus that he wasted his recommendation was enough to twist her stomach into knots.
"Your flea bitten beast found his way into my labs again," Severus gave her a scowl that didn't reach his eyes. In his arms, Crookshanks stuck up his nose, irritated that the potions master didn't appreciate his efforts to keep his lab free of rodents.
"I apologize," she sat straighter in her wheelchair. "I don't know how he keeps finding ways to escape."
"I think the castle likes him too much," Severus grumbled. "It opens the door whenever he wants to roam about."
"You think the castle likes him?" She cocked her head.
"Indeed," he answered.
"The castle doesn't tend to open doors."
"True, it enjoys rearranging itself in order to aid people such as you. It must create a cat door when neither of us is present."
"Do you think it cares for the wishes of a half-kneazle?"
"If it did not, my labs would be free of unwanted fur." He placed Crookshanks on the ground.
"I'll try to keep him under control better," she swallowed.
"Indeed," he stood far enough away so she could see him without straining her neck, his eyes betraying the silent debate as to whether or not he should ask about her emotional state.
"Thank you again." She wheeled backwards. "I appreciate you caring enough to bring him up instead of asking me to retrieve him."
"When you said you were meeting with Minerva, I thought you may be too busy to retrieve him yourself, not that the dungeons are the most accessible place," Severus closed the door behind him.
"Yes, accessibility," she muttered. "That is an issue with me."
"I wish they were more accessible, but the walls are too close together to allow a wheelchair to go through. It would be too much of a hassle to get into the dungeons," he replied. "There wouldn't be enough time to attend your meeting and collect Crookshanks."
"There would've been enough time. The meeting was short."
"Though apparently unpleasant."
Hermione took a shaky breath. "Is it that obvious?"
"Only to a former spy who knows you."
She shook her head.
"What occurred?" He took a step towards her.
Hermione stared at him, debating on how much she wanted to tell him. She could send him away without saying anything. It wasn't his immediate concern that she didn't get the job. Then again, it was not as if he would not know her news soon enough anyway.
"Did Minerva mention something about the Defense Against Dark Arts position?" He asked.
She sighed. "Yes, that's what the meeting was about."
"From the expression on your face, it does not appear that it went well."
"She won't even look at my application."
"What?" Severus' eyes grew.
"She wouldn't look at the application," she repeated.
"Why not?"
"She claims I'm not qualified."
"How are you not qualified given all you did during the war?"
"During the war, I had two well functioning legs. Now though," she looked at her shaking leg.
His eyes fell upon it. "I see."
"I don't know what I expected." She threw up her hands. "I don't know why I ever expected anyone to give me a chance. Even you had your reservations about recommending me."
"My reservations had more to do with how you would be perceived by students, not on your actual academic abilities."
"But my leg is an issue." She raised her voice. "Of course it's an issue! It'll always be an issue for wizards. If you can't walk unassisted, then all you're good for are menial jobs and teaching mind numbing subjects to students so full of prejudice against you that you want to scream!"
"I can only imagine how frustrating it must be."
"It's more than frustrating." She made two fists and pounded her armrests. "Since the day I entered the Wizarding World, I've been confronted with one prejudice after another. First, I'm only seen as a muggleborn, and shouldn't be taken seriously because of that. All my schooling career I wanted to prove I was more than a muggleborn. If I could prove I was just as good as the purebloods, I would get the respect I deserved."
"Nobody ever should've doubted your abilities," he answered.
"But they did, they all did."
"It was wrong of all of us to mistreat you, including me."
"You have an excuse since you were playing a role, but as for them," she rubbed her trembling leg. "I remember when I received my Order of Merlin, and thought I'd finally made it. I'd finally done something a pureblood wizard would need to respect. Then, a week later, I stumbled because my leg was shaking so badly I couldn't walk on it."
He hummed and nodded.
"Who knew my leg would ruin everything?" She gave him a twisted smile. "I never thought about my legs the way I did my hair or teeth. Growing up I thought my hair was too bushy, and my teeth were terrible. Never once did I think about my legs or how they could affect my life. Sure, I saw people in wheelchairs, but I didn't think that would happen to me. I was too healthy for that, and magic would save me if I was ever injured. Who knew the one part of me I cared nothing about would go onto define me and be my undoing?"
"Your leg isn't your undoing," he argued.
"It feels like that right now."
"While your leg is a part of you and your disability is an important part of your identity, it is not the only thing that defines you."
"There's no need to be so kind," her voice was quiet. "As long as I'm using this wheelchair or my walker or my cane, to most people I'm nothing but a cripple."
"You are more than a cripple. I know that, Neville knows that, Harry knows that, and most importantly, you know that."
"I know that," she locked eyes with him. "I know damn well I'm more than a cripple."
"But you feel as if nobody else knows you're more than a cripple."
She slouched and sighed.
He drew closer to her before bending down so he was at eye level with her.
After a few suffocating moments, Hermione looked him in the eyes and continued, "I suppose I should be grateful to Minerva. She was the only person willing to hire me after I stopped treatments. The Ministry made it clear they don't want me around, and every college argued their programs were too strenuous for me, even the ones that required no physical exertion whatsoever."
He kept his eyes one her. "I know you suffered at the hands of the healers…"
"Suffered," she scoffed. "Some of those treatments were worse than anything Bellatrix put me through. It was as if she was torturing me from the grave. If she'd known how badly her torture would affect my leg, well, she would've died an extremely happy woman."
"She had a nasty habit of using spells that lingered, and being enamored with a crucitas."
"I don't think even she was aware of how badly my life be after she was through torturing me."
"Have you ever considered seeing a muggle doctor about it? Perhaps they will have some treatments the healers haven't considered."
"How could I ever explain this to them?" She placed a hand over her shaking thigh. "I can't explain to them that I received this through long prolonged magical torture, nor could they find a way to expel the dark magic."
"Until that dark magic exits your system, your leg will remain as it is."
She nodded.
He sighed and shook his head. Then, a tense silence fell between them.
In a strong, quiet voice, she answered. "I'm not going back to those healers."
"That is your decision. Given everything you've suffered at their hands, I cannot blame you."
"Thank you for not making me feel stupid about it. I appreciate not feeling guilted into more dehumanizing treatments."
"It's your body. If you do not want to put it through treatments, then you shouldn't go through treatments."
"Thank you."
This time, a more comfortable silence fell between them. Hermione held out her hand. The healers had been so impersonal, and the spells had left her with no warmth. Just thinking about them made her long for a shred of humanity, something to remind her she was a woman who was cared for by someone. Perhaps it wasn't Severus' usual way of expressing his friendship, but it didn't hurt to ask for a small comfort.
Severus took her hand. As he rubbed the back of her hand, her muscles relaxed. Something about him being on her side was enough to calm her. Even if nobody else saw her as anything other than a cripple, he saw her as a person.
It was more than anyone else had ever given her.
"I will not insult you by saying I fully understand your situation," he began. "I have not known a long-term disability the way you have. Still, I know what it is like to be prejudged for something you had little control over, such as your economic status. I also know what it is like to have people who claim to be your allies demean and scoff at you."
"Minerva didn't scoff at me."
"Not in so many words, but she did dismiss you. That is as damaging as anything a bully could do."
Hermione nodded, unable to find the words to argue against him.
"I do not know if you want advice, but if you do, I may have some."
"I wouldn't mind someone giving me a way to navigate this."
"Then overcome this obstacle in your own way."
"My own way?"
"Indeed," he squeezed her hand. "You cannot teach Defense Against the Dark Arts the way others do. It will put you and possibly the students at risk. Instead of allowing others to see your disability as a drawback, use it to create a space for yourself."
"A space for myself," she whispered before images flashed in her mind, images of shields surrounding a wheelchair, of an extended cane which could trip opponents from feet away, of a walker which could provide protection, stability, as well as a good offense.
"I cannot tell you what that is, but you can create it."
"A space for myself!" Hermione's eyes glistened as she released his hand. "Yes, I can do that. I know how to do that."
"I'm sure you do."
"No, I mean I need to do some research. If I do it in enough time, maybe I can convince Minerva to change her mind. Hope may not be lost after all," Hermione backed away.
"From what I understand, the interviews start in three weeks."
"Then I don't have much time, but there's still enough to create some of my vision."
"Your vision?" Severus raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, I can do this. All I need to do is get creative," she wheeled towards the bookshelves in her bedroom. Stopping, she turned back and continued. "Thank you Severus. I don't know what I'd do without you."
Hermione disappeared into her bedroom, oblivious to the small smile which crept across his face.
