All Wounds Heal In Time

~ Day One ~

Hermione twisted slightly as she apparated into the small alcove. It was covered with white tiles, and was dirty. It smelled of urine, and she was disgusted to see hypodermic needles. Muggles had been hiding here, reaching for their own magical highs. Her nature led to her pitying them. She stepped out into the brightly lit corridor of the underground station, wiping some grime from her tights where her calf had brushed the wall as she squeezed past. It was an unelegant place to apparate, and yet so handy to the ministry.

There was also an added element of excitement in her daily commute which she couldn’t explain, but she thoroughly enjoyed non-the-less. It was always quarter to nine in the morning when she apparated, and the corridor leading to the street was always filled with Muggles, on their way to their jobs as bankers or lawyers or P.A.s, the men in suits with briefcases and often mobile phones, barking orders or receiving them.

And the girls, their hair sleek and tied back, with discrete yet expensive bags and jewellery, tottering along in their heels and skirt suits, carrying their coffees. Hermione wore similar attire whenever she came into the office in the city, and it thrilled her to imagine what she might have become if she had not gone to Hogwarts, but instead studied to become someone in business, or law in the Muggle world. She would be an enthusiastic, up-and-coming twenty three year old, with only her ambitions to challenge her.

But instead she was working for the Ministry of Magic, already in her third year, and the job she was doing was not only challenging on every level, but also extremely rewarding. She felt exhilarated returning to the office, her work had frequently kept her away recently, and she was happy to be back in the capital city. The traffic was loud and close as she stepped up the steps and out of the underground into the sunlit street. The weather had been glorious and it promised to be another scorching summer day. A bright red Routemaster double-decker bus rumbled past as she turned to cross the street. It made her hair blow back behind her and she turned her head slightly into the small breeze. The air was polluted and dirty, but she didn’t mind it. Everything was working as it should be, and she revelled in it.

Taking a opportune moment to stride across the street between the stalled traffic, she walked through a nondescript door and only when it had closed behind her did she take out her wand, using it to draw a symbol on the second door in front of her. It glowed slightly and then opened. She only had to walk along a small length of corridor before turning right and emerging in the great, brightly lit halls of the Ministry. At this busy time of the day, when witches and wizards were hurrying to their desks or labs for another day of work, the hall was buzzing and crowded. Again she felt thrilled to be back, and she paused to buy a Daily Prophet before stepping into an elevator.

When it reached her floor she pushed her way politely past two other passengers in the lift and turned left down the corridor before her. It was bright and airy and the thick red carpet muffled her shoes as she came out into a large workspace, with several desks partitioned into private office-spaces. She walked to the last space on the right and flung herself into her chair, taking a little time to straighten and polish the nameplate on her desk, her fingers lingering on the bright brass. ‘Hermione Granger, Recovery’.

There were many elements to her job, most of them hard, but that only made it more satisfying. Even now, nearly five years since Harry defeated Voldemort in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, they were still uncovering victims day by day. Often in surprising places, the ministry would suddenly discover an ex-employee or known supporter, long since taken for dead, now brain-addled or injured, sometimes even drunk or worse. It was Recovery, Hermione and her co-workers, who would do whatever they could in order to rehabilitate the victims, eventually returning them to their families, friends and past lives. When there were slower days, they would spend their time working through leads, clues. Hoping to uncover more people who needed their help.

Sometimes there was little that could be done, and it was frustrating to admit defeat. Sometimes there was no recognising the shell of a human that former acquaintances had been reduced to, damaged forever like the Longbottoms. There was still evidence of the war and the hurt every day for Hermione to have to deal with, but as the years passed she grew stronger, and more sensible. She grew up, in fact, and she knew she was still aiding the just causes of the battles she had fought at school by doing the work she did now.

And she was greatly awarded when they were successful, when she saw the look on the faces of parents suddenly and miraculously reunited with their children who were thought to be lost forever. Small yet mighty victories, even now.

And every now and then there were still times when fighting had been necessary also. There were still days when Hermione would worry for herself and others around her. She could never feel absolutely safe. But these moments seemed fewer and far between recently, and she felt braver as she grew older. Threat was a painful reminder in other ways also, since it made her think of Harry and Ron, who were away in far parts of the country undertaking the last vigorous year of training to become Aurors. Even without Voldemort to rally them, there were still dark and dangerous people in the wizarding world.

Thinking of Ron and Harry made her glance up at the large portrait of Dumbledore which hung in an impressive frame at the end of the room, looking down on all in the department and they worked hard in trying to continue his deeds for others. She saw him turn to her and wink slightly, pulling his spectacles down to the tip of his nose and peeking over them at her. The bobble on the end of the cap he was wearing swung and bobbed about merrily by his chin. She let out a chuckle and waved at him quickly, again feeling very happy to be back.

There was plenty of paper piled into the wooden box which acted as her in-tray while she was away, and she felt the contented glow of hard work settle around her as she began to work her way through the papers, replying where necessary, making notes on some and filing others. Occasionally people called to her, welcoming her back to the office and patting her on the back, and she would stop then and talk for a while, discussing work and answering questions. It was nearing lunchtime already when Hermione was disturbed one again, by a familiar and welcomed voice.

“Hermione, it is always a pleasure to see you in these offices. Charlie mentioned you would be back soon last time I spoke to him. He had good things to say about you in regards to working through Esme Player’s memory charms.” Hermione nodded with a smile, Charlie had opted to join Recovery in order to utilise his skills for the greatest benefit, as she herself had done. He was often abroad in hot places, making the most of difficult missions. Obviously he got to hearing what went on here at the office.

“ Will you be sticking around for a bit this time, as it were?” Arthur Weasley asked enthusiastically.

“I hope so Mr. Weasley, at least I don’t have any plans to travel further afield at this moment in time. I am hoping I can spend a little time in London. Harry says I can stay at Grimmauld Place,” she replied with a smile. Arthur nodded.

“Yes.” He said, not really needing to add much. But he still chose to continue and said, “George is still there.”

“Really?” Hermione replied, but she couldn’t say she was surprised really. George had moved out of the flat above the shop and had spent the last five years living at the old Phoenix headquarters, one of the few permanent members of a household that came and went, changed and adapted as lives moved on. “I’ll try and talk to him sometime,” she added reassuringly, answering Mr. Weasley’s question before he had asked it.

“Thank you ever so much. I think he might listen to you.” Arthur sighed and his brow wrinkled in concern for his son. “It’s been very hard for him. And you must come to the Burrow soon!” He offered the invitation suddenly and in his usual jovial way, seeming to break out of his temporary struggle. “Molly has been after me to bring you home for ages,” he said with a smile.

“Of course, Mr Weasley. I would be delighted! Soon, I promise.” She replied, but inside she felt guilty and sad, she knew she would not dine at the Burrow quite so soon. It felt too strange, too awkward.

“Good, good.” Arthur smiled and then said, “but I am keeping you here for selfish reasons when really I have been sent with an important message for you. The Minister wants to see you as soon as possible, if you would kindly make your way to his office. I think he might just have a job for you. No doubt a good challenge!” He added with a grin, and waggled his eyebrows at her.

She smiled at him and said that she had better go, giving him a quick peck on the cheek as she passed him. She hesitated and turned to him again, saying, “Try not to worry too much about George, I’m sure he will be alright in time. I will talk to him.”

He smiled and waved as she hurried back down the corridor to the elevator, making her way to the minister’s office on the top floor. She rocked back and forth on her heels and shuffled uneasily as the lift slowly moved between the floors. Finally it reached the top, and Hermione walked into the large hallway, making the her way over to a large black marble desk where she told the secretary her name and that she was expected. She was asked to take a seat, so she sat at the edge of one of the black leather chairs provided, keeping her hands under her so she wouldn’t fidget. She couldn’t help being nervous – it was the Minister after all.

“Do come in, Miss Granger,” she heard his deep voice call through the heavy oak door which was open not far away, and she stood and straightened herself out before going in.

Kingsley sat at ease behind his large wooden desk, his hands flat against the desk and spread out quite far apart, and there was a grin on his easy-looking face. He seemed genuinely happy for some reason, and she felt her nervousness evaporate as he rose from his chair and moved towards her, placing his hands firmly and reassuringly on her shoulders, giving her a single slight shake. “I have heard all you have done from Esme herself,” he continued, as he took her right hand in both of his own and gave it a vigorous shake too. “She is a very dear friend. I am grateful indeed for the work you have done since you joined us here at the ministry.” He part gestured, part lead her to the seat opposite his desk and hovered behind her with a hand on the back of the seat as she sat down, before he returned to his own chair. Hermione mumbled her thanks, her face growing pink, and she was unable to hide her smile at his praise.

“But that is not why I am so happy today!” His voice boomed at her and he spread his arms wide either side of him. “At least, not the only reason,” he corrected himself, and placed his hands back onto the desk. He was still grinning though, and he seemed to be attempting to contain much excitement.

“I have a job for you, Miss Granger, and I shall not expect you to accept it because I am not giving you the chance to either accept or refuse it. You *will* work on this particular Recovery case, I am telling you this because I have it on very good authority that you are the right person for the job. And I believe this also!” He added with a single burst of a laugh and another grin. His face suddenly became serious, although not severe, and he said, “There will be some need for caution. The victim is currently in residence in a muggle hospital, and so discretion will be of paramount importance. I will be very pleased indeed to recover this fellow!” His voice boomed again. Hermione leant back ever so slightly in her chair. “He is a fine man, and well known. You may even find you have encountered him during your own studies!” At this point the minister almost laughed again, a slight burst of a deep chuckle escaping from his lips.

Hermione was slightly confused and not really sure what she could say, although she had a smile on her face she couldn’t help. The minister’s obviously enjoyment was contagious, and she was curious to learn more about this mission. The minister considered her for a moment, and then proceeded to enlighten her, while pushing a folder and what seemed like a pass or badge across the smooth surface of the desk towards her.

“The delicate nature of this case meant that we had to be certain of the facts before proceeding. You will find the information you will require to launch your investigation in this file. It has be collated to your own particular needs. And this, I am told, is all you will require to gain access to the subject.” He picked up the badge now, and handed it to her.

She saw it was a laminated security pass, a photograph of herself in the top right hand corner next to words which read: ‘Hermione Granger, Cambridge University of Medicine Post-Graduate Researcher.’ Despite it being a forgery, reading her name coupled with the respected university made her happy, and she smiled while holding the pass in both hands. Kingsley smiled, shaking his head slightly, and told her,

“Yes, Arthur told me that would amuse you.” He chuckled again, affirming her suspicions that the red-haired man had known more than he had let on. “I suggest you make as swift a start as possible!” The minister continued now, rising from his seat and pulling her from her own has he swept her hands into another bone-rattling handshake. “It is an honour to be working with yourself on such an occasion.” He finished, and he rested his hand on her cheek for a moment, no longer, a comforting and reassuring gesture. He beamed again, his whole face creasing with mirth.

“The honour is all mine, Minister.” Hermione smiled as she spoke for the first time in the meeting. “I’ll not let you down”.

“I’m counting on that!” He called after her as she left the office, his deep laugh reverberating through the doorway.

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Hermione decided to return to her room at Grimmauld Place in order to go through the folder of information she had received with her security pass, so she left a message with the department’s secretary and then called in on Mr. Weasley. She apologised in advance for not being able to attend a family supper at the Burrow with such an unexpected increase in her workload, and he was good enough to wave away her expectations. He did not mention any information he might have had on her new case, and she did not question him at this point. She could contact him later if she felt he could help her in any particular way.

She put the pass and folder in her bag and made her way to the hall, where she stepped into one of the large fireplaces and found herself moments later in the hearth of the large fireplace in the dining room of Gimmauld Place. She hurried up the stairs to the room in which she had stayed many a night when in London, and sat down on the bed, kicking off her shoes and pulling her legs up under herself as she spread the pages from the folder out before her.

Disappointingly there were only three pages in what seemed like a very poor excuse for a report, but she realised that the details may not be so complex, and found this to be the case when she studied the papers. The victim was at this moment in a ‘vegetative’ sate at a local Muggle hospital, all signs pointing to a simple curse, possibly even Petrificus Totalus. It seemed they required her to gain access to him by posing as a post-graduate student, in order to administer the required counter-curses. It seemed to be pretty strait forward. She suspected that they had chosen her due to her knowledge and experience of the Muggle world, and she was not daunted by the task in front of her.

The only thing that her mind nagged at her was the lack of personal information provided on the victim she was trying to Recover. The was only his age, forty-two, and a name which she didn’t recognise. Seth Merlock. She scanned her memory for any indication of where she might know of him from, as the Minister has suggested. But no recollection was forthcoming, she was sure she had not heard the name before. And there was no information whatsoever as to who he had been prior to his attack, no hint as to what he might have done to be held in such high esteem by the wizarding population.

How long had he been lying trapped in the bed of a hospital? There was no indication. Hermione concluded that the best way to find the answers to her questions was to visit the hospital and see this Mr. Merlock for herself. ‘Perhaps I’ll figure out what this is all about’, she mused to herself, as she pulled on her light jacket and stepped into her shoes again.

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The sun was dazzling as she apparated in a small park-like area across the road from the entrance to the hospital. One of the pieces of paper in the folder had been a map guiding her to a safe place to apparate near the hospital, as well as the details of the department and ward she would require, as well as the floor number.

The air was cool inside as she stepped through the large, glass doors, and she found herself in a light room with lots of glass windows letting in the bright sunshine. She moved through the people milling about towards a sign which listed the ward names, with arrows and floor numbers. She decided to take the stairs rather than the elevator, and found herself walking down long expanses of corridor, all of the empty and sterile, the floors, walls and ceilings all white. There was the sharp smell of disinfectant in the air.

She found the door to the ward she had been directed to and saw a desk just inside with a nurse sitting behind it, making notes on some paper with a biro pen. Hermione cleared her throat quietly and the nurse looked up at her, face blank and silent.

“I am here to visit Mr. Seth Merlock,” Hermione hesitantly began to explain. “My lecturer asked me to…” she continued, but before she could explain herself, the nurse had stood up from the wheeled chair behind the counter. She was a short woman, however, and the difference between sitting and standing for her was not a great one, but she moved off at quite a pace down the ward, doors leading to rooms on either side. She beckoned for Hermione to follow, talking quickly as she did so.

“Here to see poor Seppy are you?” She asked, continuing before Hermione had time to answer. “That’s my pet name for him. I have names for all of them in here,” she gestured about to the doors on either side. “But Seppy’s been here the longest now. I suppose you’re one of the Cambridge students? You come now and then to gawp at him. Poor chap. Don’t know what’s keeping him alive,” the nurse said matter-of-factly as she hovered at one of the doors furthest down the ward, gesturing inside now, “but something is.”

Hermione took several steps past this strange woman, of whom she didn’t quite know what to think, and into the room. What she saw in there, however, made her stop suddenly just a step or so inside the door. She caught her breath, her hand flew up to her mouth in surprise. She noticed she was shaking badly all of a sudden and tried to regain her composure.

He lay on his back, with no pillow. His eyes stared above him at the white, tiled ceiling, unblinking. He hair was longer, snaking around his shoulders, framing his still, sharp face. There was an impressive growth of beard on his face. He looked like he was dead, but his chest rose and fell gently under the bed sheet which was pulled over him. He wore a hospital robe, and his arms lay on either side of him, on top of the sheets. He hands, long, thin and pale, were still on the covers. Beside him a heart monitor beeped steadily and relentlessly. He looked much older than forty two.

Despite how thin and old he appeared, and even with the beard, she could not have mistaken him. She knew from the first moment she saw him, saw those hands and dark eyes, now glazed as they stared at nothing. Alive, breathing steadily on the bed before her. Severus Snape.