Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Unintentional Inveiglement	By : onecelestialbeing Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 130141 -:- Recommendations : 8 -:- Currently Reading : 30
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Harry Potter and it's characters and making no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 64
- 65
- 66
A/N: First off, thank you anonny who let me know that this was posted to the wrong story! It took me 10 minutes to figure out how to update because they changed everything on here, and I clicked on the wrong story. Thanks again!
Soo... remember my last author's note where I explained that I had been sick but went back to work? Well two weeks after going back to work, I got into a car accident, totalled my car, got a concussion, and was unable to do anything that required focus. No reading, writing, computer, books, knitting, crocheting... Let me tell you, listening to a movie is NOT the same as watching it. And apparently concussions do things to your memory and let me say, that is NOT fun.
But it could have been worse. I'm still here! Still writing. Still alive, even though 2016 is trying to kill us off one by one.
Apologies for the delay in updates folks. I really need to be put into a bubble, but I'm trying my best to not injure myself again because it does slow down the writing process. And I'd written bits and pieces of this chapter, going back and forth a bunch so I hope it all came together. I did try. Although if it seems a little confuddled then that was also sort of the goal, as a lot of it is from Hermione's POV.
Ask for the answer to many of the same questions from the last chapter... I think you'll be pleased. A little.
My many thanks for your continued support. Thank you for the and recommendations. You all are the best! And I owe you more than cookies by now for sticking with me, I think we're up to gold bullion.
May I say thank you again for your lovely reviews and messages? They really do make my day!
BTW... anyone watched Stranger Things on Netflix or the Gilmore Girls revival? I did and I wonder if you can hear me screeching for more.
Back at Hogwarts, Filch had collapsed into an armchair while trying desperately to quell the shaking in his limbs. Panic threatened to overtake him as he took in the sight of the professor's destroyed bedroom, and he squeezed his eyes shut to block out everything. Unfortunately, doing so forced the image of a maimed, bleeding Severus to the forefront of his mind. There was another four-lettered word starting with d that nastily skulked behind, but Filch would not allow himself to dwell upon it.
Severus couldn't be dead. He simply could not.
Yes, he'd been pale as milk and there had been an absurd amount of blood. Opening his eyes, Filch peered down at his hands and saw the dark red of said blood drying into his cuticles and the deep creases of each knuckle. The professor had been eerily still; there hadn't been so much as a flicker of an eyelash to give away any sign of life left in the man. It had almost been enough to make Filch give up. Stubbornness, however, was the fuel to keep him going from the moment Dobby appeared with the professor. There were few people he could claim to have loved in all his years, and in retrospect, his time with one of those persons had been fleetingly short.
Filch tried to remember the last time he'd cried, and pinned it down to sometime after his wife's passing. He hadn't shed a tear upon finding her body cold in their bed, nor did he cry during her funeral. It wasn't until months later when his grief finally caught up to him. One minute he had been tying the laces on his boots, and the next he was on his knees, sobbing viciously into his sleeve. He cried for what felt like an eternity, and when he was done, he was shocked to feel that some of the weight had lifted from his chest. He knew there wouldn't be a day where he didn't miss his wife, but he also knew that she would be unhappy if he was to allow his anguish to rule the rest of his life. And so he dried his face, stood up, and went on to work as if that day was like any other.
The pain of losing Rona never completely went away, but time helped him to feel less broken. Of course, there were plenty moments when his bitterness got the best of him, and he had to remind himself that it was no use taking out his resentment on the world. Curiously enough, it was satisfying, and with a school packed to the brim of wayward children and mischievous ghosts, there was no end of outlets for him to redirect his anger.
Filch had made his peace with having a reputation for being quarrelsome. In his opinion, most of it was well-deserved. However, it was of no consequence to him. Most people merely tolerated him, and he was fine with that. Those whom he was personally and closely acquainted with somehow managed to look past his grouchy exterior and lack of magical abilities. They didn't give a damn about his background or where he came from. As it were, these unconcerned people were far and few.
Over time one of those persons had come to be Severus Snape. It had been an odd sort of alliance, despite the large age difference. Severus was remarkably bright in more ways than one ever since he could remember, and at times his intelligence had been somewhat intimidating. Yet, while Filch would never claim to be the brightest when it came to a formal education, he knew with certainty that he was savvy in other areas.
It was plain to see that Severus and the girl needed one another. Despite Granger's mute state, he'd seen the way she looked at the professor, and he'd seen the way Severus had looked at her. If there was some way he could prevent the girl from experiencing something so painful, he would happily do it.
"There you are, old girl," Filch croaked when Mrs Norris crept over and hopped up into his lap. His hand trembled as he began stroking her back, but the sensation of his pet's fur beneath his fingertips soothed him, and soon his hand grew steady.
It was difficult to suss out the happenings outside of Snape's room; the world could have fallen to complete ruin and he would be none the wiser. Filch wanted to go out and investigate, but he could almost hear Severus sending him away with a flea in his ear should he so much as crack open the bedroom door. The only thing he could do was wait, and wait he would.
An acrid stench burning the insides of Hermione's nostrils drew her out of a deep sleep. Her eyelids felt heavy, and the effort to drag them open was monumental.
At first she thought she was at home. It took a minute before realising that she wasn't staring at the pale lavender walls of her childhood bedroom, or at the mural consisting of photos and postcards from various holidays she'd assembled and placed on the wall to the right of her bed. Then she realised that she had no idea what this place was.
This bed she lay in was unfamiliar, and there were no recognisable signs of the dimly lit room she'd slept in. There was a strong antiseptic odour in the air –bleach, it smelled like, giving the impression of the strange place being treated to regular top-to-bottom cleanings.
Starving and desperate for a wee, Hermione pushed the heavy pile of blankets away from her body and sat up to survey her surroundings. Bare, pale blue walls that were cracked in some places and needed a fresh coat of paint. Two curtained windows and two doors. There were no signs or paintings that gave the smallest hint as to what this place was, and no mirrors or potted plants to give an illusion of cheeriness to the stark surroundings.
Hoping that one of the doors was the entrance to a lavatory, Hermione scooted her way off the bed, noticing that it was higher than she was accustomed to. Her landing was anything but graceful, and the moment she put all her weight onto her feet, an ache bloomed all over her body.
One of the doors suddenly burst open—not the lavatory, Hermione soon found out– and in walked a woman with shocking black and silver hair pulled tightly into a bun, a small tray floating in front of her.
"No no, you're not supposed to be walking around on your own," she chided, bustling over to Hermione in a flurry of lime green robes and leaving the tray to hover midair. After making Hermione sit down, she pointed to something. "Do you see this cord?" The woman tugged on a length of thin, white twined rope just within reach of the headboard. "You give this a tug and wait for someone to come in. Although I must confess, you might have to wait a few. We're stretched a bit thin here, what with the war ending and all and You-Know-Who getting himself killed by Harry Potter. Why am I saying You-Know-Who? Voldemort. Ooh, it still frightens me to say his name, but it isn't as though he's going to show up now, is he?"
If Hermione looked shocked at that bit of news, she couldn't tell, because the woman continued yammering on while fussing with the tray.
"Packed to the brim, we are. Four times the amount of patients than staff. Now I don't have long but I expect you need the lavatory after being out of it for so long."
Hermione's brow furrowed. Just how long had she been asleep for?
"Well? Speak up! I don't have the luxury of time, remember?"
Hermione frowned at the woman, but stood up as if to say that yes, she needed to relieve herself.
The woman withdrew her wand and flicked it at something across the room. The other door popped open, revealing itself as a small lavatory. The woman wasted no time in helping Hermione stand up, leading her over to the lavatory. She would not permit Hermione to shut the door all the way. It was strange to have a wee with the Mediwitch standing just outside, but at least she kept her back turned.
When Hermione was finished, the Mediwitch attempted to lead her back to bed, but she pulled away in aims of the window.
"Clever charm, that," the woman stated as Hermione drew back the curtains to display an impressive view of a springtime countryside. "I can do autumn if you like."
Hermione slowly nodded, and the Mediwitch tapped her wand against the glass. Miles of lush greenery transformed itself into tall trees with massive trunks, sporting large leaves of dark yellow and deep orange. There was even a path leading to a tiny cottage just far away enough that she could make out a smoking chimney and sprawling ivy covering its stone front.
"I'll leave the curtains back," the Mediwitch told her transfixed patient, gently but firmly steering her towards bed. "I have more rounds to make but when I return, I want to see this tray cleared. All right?"
Hermione watched as the floating tray was moved in front of her. A plate of chicken was uncovered, and the scent made Hermione forget about the window scene and remember that she was hungry.
"Very good," the Mediwitch averred from the doorway when Hermione picked up her fork.
The chicken and carrots could have used more salt, and the jacket potato needed some beans and cheese or at least two more knobs of butter, but Hermione was ravenous and came close to licking the plate clean. Just as she was finishing her dessert—a small pot of tart strawberry yoghurt—in walked a young man who didn't look much older than her. He was dressed in a pristine white shirt and white trousers, and had flaming red hair that made her feel strangely comforted.
"Hullo," he greeted, his speckly, spotted face stretching into a wide grin. "My name is Rook, and before you say it, yeah, Rook. Just like the chess piece. Dunno what my Mum was thinking but there you are. Have you finished?" Rook gestured toward the tray.
Hermione nodded and set down her empty yoghurt pot and spoon. Rook collected the tray, walked out the room, and returned with something hidden in his hand.
"Better than that disgusting yoghurt," he whispered, opening a small purple box and dropping its contents into Hermione's hand. "Chocolate. And you didn't get that from me," he told her while stuffing the empty box into his back pocket. "They'd have my head if they knew I gave you something that didn't come from the kitchens."
Hermione didn't know why this Rook character was being so nice, but there was no way she would turn down chocolate. She showed her gratitude by offering a shy smile, and Rook seemed to take no offence at her non-verbal state. He gave her a brief once-over and deemed things satisfactory.
"Remember to pull the cord if you need something. Oh, and I dunno if they told you, but it's a mad house in here. Might need to double and triple up on the rooms. I guess that's my long way of saying you might have a roommate at some point today, so... Right, just pull the cord if you need something."
Once she was alone again, Hermione ate her chocolate and went back to peering out her window to focus on the charmed autumn scenery. She was struck with a moment of rationality, thinking that it was depressing to have nothing but an illusion of a beautiful day as her only means of companionship.
What was meant to be cheerful had the opposite effect on her mood, and still Hermione was unable to turn away. Orange and yellow became blurry through a haze of tears, and she didn't bother wiping them away as they fell down her cheek.
Sniffling hard when her nose began to run, Hermione honed in on the odd scent of the room again. It was foreign and smelled all wrong, and it left her nauseated. She wanted to snatch the shapeless, too big gown off her body and run away, far away from this sterile, impersonal room and its pretty window of lies. But she had nowhere to run to, no one to run to...
Red. Red all over. It covered her hands, face, and seemed to be coating the inside of her mouth. She didn't feel pain, and had no idea where it came from. The scent was enough to turn her stomach and Hermione felt herself to gag. Reflexively she threw a hand up to her mouth, but the thick, coppery aroma on her skin made things worse.
She needed help. She needed her wand. But most of all, she needed to know why every inch of her body was covered in blood.
Hermione tried to stand, but the floor was slippery and she immediately fell back to her hands and knees. The more she moved, the harder it became to hold onto anything, and she wanted to cry out in frustration.
Why wasn't anyone helping her? Could they not see her obvious distress? How could anyone miss this mess of blood?
Those silent pleas quickly dissolved when Hermione's eyes fell upon the source of the blood trail. How she had missed it before, she knew not, but the unconscious man within a foot's distance had her clumsily scrambling over on all fours.
His face was concealed in a way that it left him almost unrecognisable. But looking beyond the blood, the hooked nose, angular features, and limp, black hair was eerily familiar to Hermione and without thinking, she pulled the man's head into her lap. Her sleeve was saturated with red and unable to soak up another ounce, but she used it vainly to try and clean his face. The more she wiped, the more red became smeared on his cheeks and lips, and Hermione was close to tears.
Immediately she began screaming for help, but to her horror, no sound came out. She tried to scream louder; there was an intense fiery sensation gripping her throat, and still her efforts proved fruitless.
Dragging the man was no easy feat. Still she was unable to stand up, and his weight combined with the slippery floor did not permit any sort of progress. Some sensible part of her mind screamed for her to leave him there and try to find someone, but her heart seemed to be connected to her arms and would not allow her to let go.
All of a sudden, some unseeable force snatched her backwards and away from the man. That caused her claw at the air, struggling to get loose. Why were they grabbing her? She wasn't the one who needed help; couldn't they see the man covered in blood? Why not help him? Why not—"
"Hey! HEY!"
"Miss Eldritch, really! This is a hospital!"
"Oh, is that right? Is that why I've been yelling my head off for the past five minutes, waiting for someone to come in here and help that poor girl? I think she's having a nightmare or something. She's been fighting the air and I'm pretty sure she's the reason my water glass upped on its own and broke."
Hermione was still half asleep and in the midst of struggling. She had begun fighting upon the feel of someone grabbing onto her flailing arms in an attempt to pin them to her side.
"Wake up, child! Come on, wake up."
It spite of being shaken like a rag doll, it was difficult to decipher if the injured man and being unable to speak was real or a dream. Then the sensation of magic trickling throughout her body forced her eyes open, and Hermione found herself tangled in her bedsheets, and staring up into the face of a mildly alarmed Mediwitch who had her wand drawn by her side.
"Just a dream, child. It was just a dream," the woman soothed as Hermione continued hyperventilating. "You're safe, you're all right. Do you know where you are?"
Hermione's heart continued racing at a wild gallop. Her senses were still wandering and she was unable to focus on the question. It hadn't felt like a dream, and even though it clearly was, everything had been too real for comfort. Her side was on fire, and her skin still felt slick and clammy. The uncomfortable dampness was from perspiration, but she was sure that she could still smell blood. Her eyes weren't lying, however; her hands were clean, the floor was clean, and there was no man.
No man.
Why did that make her feel lonely? Why did she want to cry?
"You're in St. Mungo's," the woman continued. "You've been here for a few days."
Hermione continued staring at her hands. They were trembling, as was the rest of her.
"Would you like something to relax you?" the Mediwitch asked.
Shaken up to the point of tears, Hermione didn't realise that she was crying until the Mediwitch held out a few tissues and told her to wipe her face. She accepted the tissues, wiped her eyes, and nodded.
"Praise Merlin," said another person across the room. "And add some Dreamless Sleep to the mix while you're at it. Maybe that way we'll all get some proper kip."
"Hush you, or I'll stick you back in the room with old Mrs. Finch."
Gasp. "You wouldn't."
"Oh, but I would, Mrs. Flourny, and you know it. Now settle down or else."
During this entire exchange, the Mediwitch had been using her wand to make screens appear around Hermione's bed. With expert ease, she had Hermione's sweat-soaked hospital gown off and swiftly replaced with a clean, dry one. Another flick of her wand sent the soiled sheets flying off the bed and into a heap on the floor. Clean ones immediately reappeared and neatly took their place. Just as the pillows finished plumping themselves, Hermione was directed to lay back down.
"I'll be right back, dear," the Mediwitch told Hermione as the screens enclosing them disappeared with a small pop. "Gladys, behave yourself while I'm gone."
"Me, behave myself? That's rich. Who's going to bring me a new drinking glass? Or shall I just pour the water from the jug directly into my mouth?"
The Mediwitch ignored that comment and continued out the room. Gladys continued muttering to herself, going on about dying of thirst and would anyone give a damn? Obviously not.
Tuning out Gladys and her ranting, Hermione curled up on her side and hugged a pillow to her chest. The fresh gown and bedclothes was a small relief, but it wasn't enough to dissolve the ball of tension in her stomach. Thankfully there was little time to dwell on her anxiety; the Mediwitch returned swiftly as promised, and soon had an open phial that smelled of faintly of Fluxweed at Hermione's lips.
"There we are," the woman praised after Hermione swallowed every drop of the potion. "You should feel better in a moment."
The woman was right; that floaty feeling sank in and swiftly sent Hermione's senses adrift.
Hermione found herself running as fast as her bare feet would allow her. The reason for her impromptu flight had yet to make itself known, but the fear coursing through her blood was real and left her heart pounding. She tried to yell for help, but no sound came out. It would be terribly inconvenient to die, especially considering that she had no idea where this place was.
Just as her legs began to give out, Hermione felt the ground dissolve beneath her feet and down she went. There was nothing to grab onto, and she couldn't move her head to see what was below. Screaming was still impossible, but it didn't keep her from flailing around and reactively grasp for something, even if she continued to meet thin air.
To her relief, Hermione landed on something soft, and she dug her fingers into the surface. She was still trying to catch her breath when she heard a male voice telling her not to be frightened, that she was safe. The voice seemed foreign yet familiar at the same time, and she was surprised to find that she was no longer afraid.
'You're safe, sweetheart. You're all right. No one is going to hurt you.'
Those words were familiar. Hadn't someone said that exact thing to her before?
Hermione turned her head and found that she was in a bed. A man, seemingly naked beneath a blanket, was on the other side and staring right at her. Looking down, Hermione saw that she was now disrobed, yet also tucked beneath the blanket. As she tried to make sense of it all, she looked back at the man and found his hand stretched in her direction, in open invitation. She still felt unsure but took his hand anyway, and allowed him to pull her close. His skin felt strangely cool, but after resting her head on his chest, she found that he felt like home. She had a feeling that she knew this man, and thought it silly to ask his name, considering the fact that they were completely naked and intimately entwined with one another.
Reason told her that she should go, but the comforting sensation of familiar fingers gently caressing the back of her neck kept her firmly rooted in place. Whoever this man was, she could happily forget about the outside world and stay here forever with him.
And she would have stayed there, if not for some sudden, unforeseeable force yanking her backwards and away from those safe arms...
"Wake up, dearie. You need to eat."
The man's voice changed, and Hermione tried to figure out why he was suddenly mentioning food. There was more shaking, more tugging on her arms, although it felt as though the touch was real.
Hermione was so out of it that she could not decipher the dream from reality, and she blindly lashed out at the person shaking her shoulder.
"Damn it all! I came here to get well, not be made worse!" a woman shrilled. "I'm bleeding, damn it. Look at this, my head is bleeding! This is ridiculous!"
"Calm down, Gladys—"
"No, I will not calm down! She's barking mad, I tell you, barking! She made this fly right at me!" Gladys picked up a clipboard from her lap and jabbed it in the Mediwitch's direction. "This is the second time! With all that funny business going on in that head, she needs to be in a room by herself."
The Mediwitch took a deep breath and flicked her wand at Gladys, making a large pile of bleached gauze appear in her free hand.
"Hold that to your head until I get to you."
"So I'm supposed to do your job all of a sudden? That's grand."
In the midst of all the chaos, Hermione had opened her eyes and was looking around, trying to regain her bearings. She was breathing hard and disoriented again. The woman standing next to her was dressed in green and seemed nice enough, but the other woman in the hospital bed across the room looked completely put out, and Hermione had no idea why.
"Relax. Take a deep breath," the woman above her instructed calmly. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. That's it, good girl."
"And what's all this noise?" Another woman in green had just walked into the room and she stopped in front of Hermione's bed to glare at her colleague, and then at Gladys. "This is a hospital, in case you haven't noticed, Mrs. Flourny. There is no reason that I should be able to hear you from the other end of the corridor."
"Oh, this is a hospital, she says?" Gladys echoed sarcastically, still holding the gauze in place at her temple. "Maybe you'll be able to tell me why I came in for nearly getting my arm hexed off by some nutter who thought he was a Death Eater, yet almost managed to get my head cut off clean whilst resting in this so-called paragon of healing?"
"You, quiet," the woman ordered before turning back to the Mediwitch. "Tilly, what's the problem? Can't you control your patients?"
"I just started my shift, Cygnata. And I did nothing more than attempt to wake up this young lady because Edgar said she hadn't eaten since yesterday evening. I assume you've passed by a clock at some point to know what time it is now."
"Yes, yes, fine," Cygnata replied impatiently, frowning. "But what does that have to do with all this shouting? And why is your other patient injured?"
"Well..." Tilly trailed off, casting both patients a sidelong glance and continuing in a hushed tone. "When I went to wake her, she sort of panicked, and I suppose she's the reason for my clipboard flying across the room and striking Mrs. Flourny."
Cygnata remained unconvinced. She impatiently waved Tilly out her way and snatched Hermione's medical chart from the front of the bed's footboard.
"Do you people ever bother with consulting the patient charts? Or do you think they're merely there for decoration?"
"What are you on about now?"
Cygnata stared at the two patients before blinking hard at Tilly. "Let's step out into the corridor, shall we?"
"This is the second time she's had one of those fits!" Gladys shouted behind them. "And I'm still bleeding if you haven't noticed!"
Gladys was ignored again. The Mediwitch and Healer stepped out into the corridor but didn't close the door all the way, and it was easy for Hermione to eavesdrop on every word of their conversation.
"Did no one see on this chart that she's to be given a single room due to special circumstances?"
"Circumstances, what circumstances? The part where she wakes up panicked and sends everything flying?"
"Mostly, yes, but also the fact that we haven't got a clue who she is. Didn't you notice that she doesn't speak?"
"Damn it, Cygnata, I told you that I literally just walked into this hospital, fresh from holiday. Hell of a time to return, let me tell you. I'd barely got my kit off when I had a stack of files shoved into my arms and was told to start checking on patients. I don't know anything about the girl, except that she didn't eat since last night. And now, that she can wandlessly send things flying."
"There's one other patient who can do the same. Put up one hell of a fight with the staff yesterday morning, but as I understand he was almost dead yet somehow half out of his mind and had to be restrained. They're keeping him sedated for now. His magic makes hers look like child's play. Jack was sent face first into a wall and it's a miracle his nose didn't shatter into a million pieces. Took almost a whole cauldron of Bruise Removal to get rid of the black and blue."
"Yeah? Remind me to take the piss at him for that later."
"I will not. Damn, you made me forget why I dragged you out here. Oh yes, that girl needs to be moved to the Janus Thickey Ward and kept away from the other patients. We know there are risks that come along with the job, but we can't have her harming patients whenever she goes into one of her fits."
"I suppose you're right. What happened to her, anyway? Too many rounds of the Cruciatus?"
"Could be, but I don't think so. I've never seen after effects of the Cruciatus that resemble this. It would be easier to figure out what's wrong if she'd bother telling us, but there it is. Anyway, I'll sort out the room, Tilly. You just make sure she eats. There'll be no patients starving themselves on my watch."
Had Hermione's mind not been so traumatised, she would have been able to suss out the other person the women were discussing. But the only thing she could focus on was the fact that she would be alone again and the reasons behind that decision. It made her feel guilty that such drastic measures needed to be taken, especially since she had no control over the physical manifestations of her emotions.
There was little time to dwell further upon the conversation, because the Healer and Mediwitch came back into the room. Cygnata explained to Hermione that she was going to be moved to her own private quarters, and shortly after she found herself in a slightly smaller room decorated with the same bleak charm of the first.
That didn't matter for long, as this room had the same charmed window. Even though Hermione knew it was a ruse, she allowed herself to become consumed by the sight, and soon the events of the past hour were forgotten.
For two days and three nights, no one knew what to make of the man at the far end of the ward for serious cases. Upon his bloody, precipitous arrival at St. Mungo's, he had been easy to work with due to being unconscious. However, the next day he slipped back into a somewhat mindful state, and he immediately began pulling at anything touching his body and fought anyone who touched him.
Multiple healers had rushed into the room, doing their best to calm the agitated man. All their efforts were for naught, as a magical surge rushed forward and sent everyone toppling backwards. One man went headfirst into the wall, causing an unpleasant crunching sound shortly before blood began streaming from his nose. The man fled out of the room in a blind panic with both hands over his face, swearing loudly and promising to 'never set foot near that crazy bastard again'.
The patient's magic proved to be too strong, even for the remaining group of Healers. He was bandaged to the nines beneath the hospital gown in multiple places, bruised in several other places, and weakened from significant blood loss. In spite of all that, it took six Healers plus two Mediwizards to sedate the man and strap his limbs to the bed.
Steadily sinking into a numb stupor due to potion and spells, he had never noticed the fiery sensation radiating along the length of his left side.
Little did he know that on the opposite end of the ward, in another room, was another person who had been intermittently experiencing the same thing on the right side of their body, yet didn't notice due to having imbibed the same anaesthetic potion.
Having her own room turned out to have its advantages and disadvantages.
It was nice to wake up to find everything quiet, and not the shrieking melodramatic Gladys Flourny. On the same hand, it was awful to wake up to a stark silent room and feel like she was the only person left in the world.
Also, as for those few moments of lucidity, always during mealtimes, it was frustrating not having anything to read.
All of this was moot point as Hermione was not able to vocalise her annoyance. And even if she had been able to speak, the Calming Draught she was given around the clock left her teetering the line of full sedation.
It was hard to explain that your heart was broken when you didn't know why, and doubly so when you could not speak. And it was hard to do anything else when you were barely coherent and struggled to recognise your surroundings at every turn.
There were a few ladies in lime green who visited her room, accompanying them a floating tray which always held a meal and a phial with clear liquid. One of the ladies had a kind face. She always gave warning of her entrance by knocking ahead of time, and the perpetual smile on her lips also reached her eyes. This particular Healer took the time to remind Hermione of her name, where she was, and the time of day. It was a considerate gesture that Hermione would have appreciated had her mind been working properly.
The other staff, however, had quickly lost patience with their uncommunicative patient. While they weren't blatantly rude, their tone was placating to the point of patronising, and that was only when they chose to speak. A large part of this had to do with the Healers not wanting to set off Hermione and end up with a broken nose like their colleague. The other part was caused by frustration and fatigue, as everyone was pulling double shifts to accommodate the steady influx of patients at St. Mungo's.
So day after day Hermione awoke feeling lost, until the nice Healer with the genuine smile came into the room and began her daily speech. A few times she tried coaxing Hermione into leaving her room and joining the other patients in the day room for games and other activities. Only one time did she accept, and that visit lasted all of ten minutes. That little venture proved to be overwhelming, and Hermione immediately turned to flee to her room.
A Mediwizard, who was working nearby and unaware of Hermione's proneness for sending things flying when upset, tried stopping her and swiftly learnt the error of his ways. A busted lip from a thick storybook flying at his face caused the man to yelp and let go of Hermione's arm. After that she was allowed to remain in her room, which suited her and the ward's staff just fine.
Staring out of her charmed window hour after hour, and losing herself to the daydream of a man with a deep voice and rough but gentle, carefully moving hands that stroked her cheek and forehead became her only source of solace. Those daydreams carried over into the nights, and more than once Hermione awoke to find her heart racing and a familiar, bittersweet ache at her centre that wasn't completely unpleasant. Unfortunately, the night-time also brought forth other dreams that left her distraught. Her subconscious relived the horror of flesh being sliced open by a dagger, wielded by what resembled a banshee who shrieked into her face whilst spraying spittle the entire time. There was some odd remembrance of being burnt alive, even though her body remained intact. More than once Hermione cried herself awake, but found that she remembered little to nothing about her nightmare. The upside to it all was not waking up to a berating roommate, or finding objects strewn about. The staff had been adamant about removing anything that her unhinged mind could inadvertently use as a weapon. A small jug made of thin plastic and half filled with water, along with a matching cup were the only things allowed, reason being they could cause little harm if suddenly catapulted at someone's face.
Huddling beneath the blankets became a coping mechanism. Sometimes it became too warm and it made the sound of her breathing loud in her ears, but it gave her something else to focus on. One of the Mediwitches caught Hermione with her head beneath the blankets and gave her an odd look, yet she flicked her wand at the bed and made another blanket appear.
"If you were cold, all you had to do was pull the cord," the woman stated tersely before beginning her silent appraisal of her patient.
The Mediwitches making their rounds was always a welcomed distraction, even the not-so-friendly ones. They always carried a tiny checklist and handled each task before ticking off each item. It was all rather efficient, as well as a tad impersonal, as some of them barely looked Hermione in the face whilst checking her over. It was rare for most of the staff to extend the courtesy of asking Hermione if she needed anything before taking their leave.
Tonight was the evening for the nice Mediwitch. After bringing Hermione a fresh pitcher of chilled water, the Mediwitch doused the lights and told Hermione to sleep well. The window scene had been changed from an orange autumn to a twinkly, purple-blue forest at nightfall. It had been pretty to stare at whilst drifting off to sleep, but Hermione had been startled out of her sleep twice by nightmares, and both times her eyes snapped open and she thought she had fallen asleep outside with nothing but the night sky as her protector.
It was some time before she was able to calm herself. Physically, she was restless. Mentally, she was exhausted.
She didn't want to go back to sleep, knowing something horrible lurked in her state of unconsciousness. Anything was better than sleep; she would even settle for the diversion of the mean Mediwitch popping in.
Almost always the corridor outside her door buzzed with activity. However, it was now quiet and Hermione guessed it really was night-time. To her dismay, there was nothing else to do except sleep, and she curled up on her side with a pillow hugged to her chest. Even though she told herself wasn't tired the dark room eventually made her drowsy, and it became hard to keep her eyes open.
It could have been five minutes that passed; it could have been five hours. But the feeling of no longer being alone stirred her senses, and Hermione awoke to a silver glow next to her head.
It was a Patronus—that much she could tell. But precisely what animal, and who it belonged to, remained a mystery.
There was no message from the beautiful creature, and not once did it move from its spot. Hermione considered moving from bed, wondering if the animal had been sent to take her somewhere.
'Why are you here?' Hermione tried to ask. As expected, no sound came out, and her train of thought was derailed as a fierce throbbing set in her head.
"Hermione."
The Patronus uttered that single word, its voice so familiar that Hermione forced herself to try and speak again. The pain at her temple intensified and made her flail, and Hermione felt herself falling sideways and crashing upon something hard...
The landing of Hermione's body against the unyielding surface of the hospital floor jolted her awake. Breathing hard while massaging her thrumming knee, Hermione frantically looked around.
It was another dream. An eerily realistic dream that left her on edge and covered in gooseflesh. There was no silvery animal anywhere, and everything was silent.
Still, Hermione could hear that voice saying her name in her head, and her wits remained rattled.
Met with the sudden urge to leave her room, Hermione carefully rose from the floor. The room was so dark that it took more than a few minutes of fumbling around before she found her slippers and robe. Once she was dressed out into the corridors she crept, doing her best to avoid attention from the night staff. All patients were in bed, and there were two Mediwitches on the floor. One was dozing off with her cheek propped up against her fist, and the other was deeply engrossed in a book.
Hermione didn't know the root of the force pulling her feet toward the opposite end of the ward, but quietly she walked, ducking to the side whenever she saw a staff member. There was no rhyme or reason to this little trip, and she didn't know when she would stop. The only thing she knew was that her anxiety dissolved bit by bit the more she walked.
This far end of the hospital was just as quiet. Things were so still that it was almost worrisome. She was sure that someone would catch her, but the possibility was not enough to make her turn back.
Hermione finally came across a nondescript white door, and something made her reach out and turn the knob. The door was unlocked, and she slowly pushed it opened and stepped inside.
The room was dimly lit, but it was easy enough to make out the shape of someone's feet beneath a pile of blankets. As she advanced further into the room, the right side of her body felt as though it were suddenly on fire. That strange pulling sensation, she noticed, was almost coming from the same area.
Discomfort be damned, Hermione pressed on, desperate to find out the reason for her senses leading her all the way across the hospital and into this particular room.
"Hey, what are you doing out of bed?"
A few inches closer and Hermione would have been able to see the face of the person lying in the bed. It was inconvenient that a Mediwitch chose that moment to walk into the room, and Hermione jumped guiltily at being caught.
"Friend of yours?" she asked, steering Hermione out of the room by her upper arm.
As much as she wanted to pull away and resist, Hermione knew it would entail her being hit with some sort of suppression spell and waking up to find herself being tethered to bed. It was almost painful to allow the Mediwitch to pull her from the room, but she was obedient and forced her feet to move.
"He's resting, and you ought to be doing the same at this hour, " the Mediwitch stated quietly as they walked back down the corridor. Hermione walked on, but continued turning around to peer over her shoulder.
"Now are you going to stay in here, or do I need to lock your door until morning?" she asked once they were back inside Hermione's room.
That was easy to answer; she definitely did not want to be locked inside. Hermione shook her head.
"Very good," the Mediwitch replied, helping her back into bed. "Now try to get some rest."
Hermione huffed loudly as she listlessly flopped back onto her pillow, making sure to keep her eyes open.
"Would you like a sleeping draught again?"
Hermione forgot about her act of defiance and began considering. She didn't care for taking whatever potions they offered, but it did force her to sleep and stay asleep. The only drawback was heightened confusion and grogginess come morning, but she would be confused even if she didn't take the potion.
"There's no sense in trying to soldier on if you don't have to. You need to rest and it will help you."
Flames still licked the side of her body and the discomfort from that alone would make getting through the night difficult. Deciding that taking the draught would be in her best interest, Hermione began to nod. She barely moved her head when the Mediwitch Conjured a small bottle and held the dropper to her lips. The potion immediately kicked in and the fire dancing along her skin muted into a faint warmth before going completely numb. By the times her eyes crashed shut, the Mediwitch had already left the room.
His head felt thick, as though it had been stuffed with cotton, and his senses were dulled to the point where he wondered if he'd been given an overdose of Draught of Living Death yet somehow stirred out of a slumberous state.
In spite of this problematic benumbed condition, it hadn't managed to completely dissolve his survival instincts.
Someone was in the room with him, and they were close.
At first, he believed it to be one of his tormenters dressed head to foot in puke green, come to make him suffer again. There seemed to be no end of poking and prodding, or of his body being magically moved this way and that while things he could not see were carried out with no explanation.
"Who's there?" he tried to ask, to no avail; it felt like the cotton was also in his throat.
Someone touched his hand, and it made him flinch. He wanted to see who, but his neck refused to move. Usually he abhorred anyone touching him, but there was something about this caress and the forthcoming voice that put him at ease instead of on edge.
"You're fine, Severus. You're safe."
Rare was the instance where he outright believed anything, but it was true, his life didn't feel threatened at the moment. If he even still had a life to begin with. He thought he had woken up, yet everything was eerily dreamlike. Either this was one hell of a trance he was stuck in, or...
"Am I..." Snape trailed off, swallowing hard, too scared to utter the words burning his tongue. "Am I dead?"
"Of course not," the person next to him replied sweetly. "Did you really think you could get rid of me that easily?"
He knew that voice. It was the only sliver of light in a well of darkness, and the very thing which kept him grounded for so long.
"Apparently not," Snape replied, taken aback by the scratchiness of his voice."Though I assure you, I don't mind."
"I wonder where we are?"
"Search me. Limbo? Purgatory? A never-ending loop on the first day of start of term? If it's the latter, feel free to finish what that bloody snake was unable to."
"That's not funny, Severus. I lost my mind all over again when I thought you were dead."
"All over again? And you chastise me for my gallows humour. As it were, I'm not entirely convinced that I did survive that wretched ordeal."
"You're alive, Severus. We both are. You-Know-Who isn't, in case you were wondering. And I might be barking out there, but I don't think even my mind could conjure up something so realistic in here. Wherever 'here' is."
Severus paused, contemplating Hermione's statement about their unknown surroundings. He shifted his head to look around, surprised to find that he was unable to see anything beyond the circumference of his bed.
"Do you remember the last thing I said to you? The very last thing?" Severus asked carefully.
Tears shone in Hermione's eyes, and she bit her lip, hoping the pain would force her to regain some control of her emotions.
"Tell me, Hermione," Severus persisted. "The dead don't tend to remember much. If this is real... If you're real, then I need you to tell me the last thing I said to you."
"Damn it, Severus." Hermione was unsuccessful at holding back her tears, and she furiously wiped her face as they tumbled down her cheek. "You told me you loved me, that you would always love me. And then you asked me to forgive you, but I have no idea why."
"I asked you to forgive me for not being able to keep my promise... For putting you in this position in the first place. For being selfish and wanting to keep you... wanting you all for myself despite knowing better. I knew I couldn't bring myself to lie to you, but I knew everything was over the moment I walked out of that room. I may not remember everything prior to nearly having my head ripped off, but I will never forget that look on your face when I said goodbye."
"Would it sound stupid if I told you that I told myself I would see you again?"
"It would be terribly uncharacteristic and un-Gryffindor of you to not hold out for hope. Besides, there's only room for one pessimist in this relationship."
"Oh—!" Hermione exclaimed, at a loss for words from the sudden welling of her emotions. She launched herself at Severus, tearing through the thick pile of blankets covering him to bury her face in his chest.
"You feel the same," Hermione murmured once she had calmed down. Inhaling hard to capture more of his familiar scent, she nuzzled her nose deeper. "You smell the same too."
As Hermione sniffled and petted Snape's chest through his pyjamas, he manoeuvred the blankets back over their bodies.
"No fair," Hermione yawned, feeling quite cosy as she draped an arm over her lover and snuggled close. "Now I'm going to fall asleep."
"Isn't that what people typically do in bed?"
"Yes... after doing other things that may or may not take place in bed."
"Wicked girl." Hermione laughed, and it melded into a contented sigh as Severus brushed his fingers against the back of her neck. "A bit of sleep wouldn't hurt. You're exhausted."
"I'm the one who's supposed to be fussing over you and telling you to sleep. But I don't want to close my eyes. It seems like whenever I do, I wake up and you're gone."
"If the Dark Lord and his pet bitch were unable to separate us, I highly doubt a bit of kip is going to do so."
"Fine, if you insist." Hermione yawned again. "Somehow I get the impression that I'm missing something. Lots of things. It's sort of like trying to get a clear picture yet being forced to look through frosted glass. If that makes sense; I know I'm rambling."
"You wouldn't be Hermione Granger if there was no rambling. Besides, I've missed hearing your voice."
"I wager you never thought you'd hear yourself saying that."
"Enough of your cheek. Now close your eyes."
"My eyes are already closed."
"Then close your mouth."
"Is this some sort of shared dream we're having? Because if so, you're supposed to be nice in dreams."
"I'm concerning myself with your well-being. What would you call that?"
"Well..." Hermione trailed off. "OK, fine. You win. I'll go to sleep."
"Good girl."
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Unintentional Inveiglement