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The Quickening	By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 32428 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other characters/things/places created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money from my fan-fiction.

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
Chapter 9
Hermione slept. After she had watched Snape collapse, like a marionette with its strings cut, she had severed the extracorporeal projection and fallen into a deep slumber. She slept through the night and into the next day, Ginny checking on her every two hours. She knew that her friend had been visited by harrowing dreams since the war, causing her to flail about and throw off her covers, and so wanted to ensure that she kept warm. When she entered in the late afternoon with a bag of food and cup of water, Ginny found Hermione shaking her head, her brow glistening with sweat, mumbling breathlessly.
“Don’t do it . . . Don’t do it.”
Sitting on the side of her bed, Ginny brushed Hermione’s tussled hair away from her face and, after a few gentle strokes, the older girl fell silent.
“Mione?” she whispered. Hermione didn’t respond.
Ginny gently shook her shoulder. It was more important that she ate than slept at this point, having gone without food and water for days.
“Mione!” she shook her more urgently and Hermione finally sat up with a gasp, her eyes darting wildly around the room.
Ginny smiled warmly at her. “Hey sleepy head. You’ve been out for over a day. And I really don’t think you need any more beauty sleep.”
Hermione closed her eyes and flopped back onto her pillow, a small smile on her lips.
“I think I might have been tired,” she rasped, her throat bone dry. Ginny helped her sit up and handed her the water and paper bag containing a chicken sandwich, apple and a muffin. Hermione drained the cup, then realised she was starving, stuffing the sandwich in with very little consideration for manners or crumbs. It was only when she came to unwrapping the muffin that she noticed the expression on Ginny’s face. She knew her well enough to guess that she wanted to tell her something, but was unsure of how to say it.
“Out with it Gin,” she said, fiddling with the plastic film. “I’m feeling much better now. About everything.”
Ginny still looked uncertain but then reasoned she was going to find out one way or another.
“Snape’s in the infirmary,” she said, searching Hermione’s face.
Hermione stopped chewing, the awful memories of Snape’s preparations to poison himself, stealing away her appetite. He had collapsed. Had he had a break down? She would understand if he had, having been on the verge herself. She wrapped up the remainder of the muffin and shoved it back in the bag.
“He’s been sedated and restrained.” Ginny continued, watching Hermione closely.
Hermione frowned, “Restrained? Why?”
Ginny chewed her bottom lip.
“Why Ginny?” Hermione repeated, leaning forward to look her in the eye.
“I heard they’re holding him while they wait for officials to arrive from Azkaban.”
“What?!” Hermione shrieked. “What do you mean Azkaban? What would they want with him?”
Ginny sighed, shaking her head. “What do you think?”
Hermione looked genuinely puzzled. “What has he done?”
“Mione!” Ginny looked at her incredulously. “He raped a minor!”
“Did he?” said Hermione.
“Yes!” cried Ginny. “You!”
Hermione threw off her covers and leapt from her bed. “I’m not a fucking minor!”
“You’re seventeen Mione. You are a minor.” Ginny stood as Hermione started pulling clothes out of her dresser drawers.
“What are you doing?”
Hermione continued throwing clothes out of her drawers onto her bed. “Professor McGonagall knows I’m not a minor. I told her all about the time turner. I worked out that it had added over a year to my life. I’m closer to nineteen than seventeen!”
She hadn’t managed to change out of her torn and dusty clothing from the previous day but now threw them off into the corner, pulling on fresh underwear, jeans and a faded red shirt in record time.
Ginny still stared at her, as if she had gone mad.
“I don’t understand why you’re defending him?” she said.
Hermione whirled around. “Because I’m equally to blame!” she cried. “I raped him too. You were there. You tried to stop me!”
Ginny realised it was true. For some reason she hadn’t thought of Snape as a victim. It worried her that she had naturally blamed him for everything.
“So what are you doing to do?” she asked more gently.
“I’m going to convince them to let him go,” Hermione said, wrapping a tie around her hair and slipping on a pair of shoes. “Otherwise, they can send me to Azkaban too.”
“Mione!” Ginny cried.
But it was too late, Hermione had charged out the door.
* * *
“Hermione.” Hagrid raised his bushy eyebrows in greeting as she approached the infirmary door.
“Hagrid,” she responded, feeling awkward despite knowing the gentle giant so well.
They stood looking at one another, Hermione with her arms crossed and Hagrid leaning stiffly against the door frame, trying to appear casual. Hermione pretended to be reading a notice on the wall, while Hagrid pretended not to be watching her. Finally, she decided there was no easy way to say it.
“I need to see him.”
“Er . . . Well. Yer see. I can’ let yer see ‘im. Strict orders . . . From the top.” He looked at her apologetically.
Hermione sighed, running her fingers across her lips as she thought about her next move. She didn’t care that Hagrid could see her strategizing. He knew her well enough to know her mind would be moving at a million miles an hour.
“Why is he restrained? Is he dangerous?”
“Well,” Hagrid’s expressive face hid nothing. “Yer’d be the bes’ judge of tha’.”
His cheeks immediately blazed red as he buried his face in his beard, clearly regretting his words.
Hermione glared at him, her jaw clenching with anger and humiliation.
“Look . . . Hermione. I didn’t mean ter say tha’. I jus’ don’ know why yer want ter see ‘im. Not after what he done to yer.”
Hermione blinked in indignation. She loved Hagrid and knew he cared deeply for her but he wasn’t immune to the occasional, or even regular, gaffe.
“As a matter of fact, the person I really want to see is Madam Pomfrey,” she declared.
He looked at her suspiciously. She could run rings around him with her intellect and he knew this was exactly what she was trying to do. His knitted brow betrayed the fact that he was trying to work through her reasoning, and was clearly getting confused.
“She’s busy.” Was all he could come up with.
“I’ll wait,” Hermione said abruptly, returning to reading the notices.
His eyes darted around under his heavy eyebrows, looking uneasily between Hermione and the infirmary door. His finger tapped anxiously on the handle of his umbrella. It wasn’t two minutes before he finally gave in.
“I’ll go check if she’s still busy,” he said gruffly, shuffling backwards through the door to watch that she didn’t follow.
His huge dark shadow re-appeared only a few moments later.
“She says she’ll see yer in ‘er office,” he said, side-stepping out the door and taking up his position in front of it.
Hermione smiled. “Thanks Hagrid.”
Hagrid nodded but as she passed him, he placed his huge hand on her arm. “I jus’ wanna say I’m really sorry. I didn’ mean wha’ I said earlier. Sometimes findin’ the right words is as hard as catchin’ the golden snitch.”
She put her hand on top of his and squeezed it. “Sometimes there are no right words.”
He acknowledged her with another upward jerk of his eyebrows, before sighing heavily and folding his hands behind his back.
Hermione stepped through the doorway into the main room of the infirmary. Only one bed was occupied—a young boy whose face was spotted with angry red boils. They must be holding Snape in one of the isolation rooms. She quietly made her way to the office of Madam Pomfrey whom she found with her nose buried in a thick tome.
“Madam Pomfrey?”
She jumped before fixing Hermione with a look that was a curious combination of concern and intrigue.
“Miss Granger, please take a seat.” She gestured to the chair opposite her desk.
Hermione sat and had to resist crossing her arms. She didn’t want to appear defensive. But when she went to speak, Madam Pomfrey raised a hand.
“There are some things you need to know,” she started in her typically officious manner. “I know you are here about Professor Snape and I also know that you are aware of some . . . sensitive information relating to the Professor.” She sighed, looking unusually uncomfortable. “I believe you are also aware that the Professor has been taken ill. That he collapsed.” She paused again, blinking rapidly, as if trying to work her way over a difficult mental hurdle.
“While he was unconscious, Professor McGonagall extracted some of Professor Snape’s most recent memories and viewed them with his pensieve. Suffice to say, we are now aware of what was done to you and I wanted to pass on my heartfelt sympathy for what you went through. Professor McGonagall and myself came to find you immediately to offer you counselling but we were met by a very determined friend of yours, Miss Weasley, who would not allow us to disturb you. We were happy to respect her wishes but please don’t think that we weren’t concerned for your welfare.”
She finally took a breath.
“I’m sure you’ll agree that the only appropriate action for what Professor Snape perpetrated against you is imprisonment.”
Hermione crossed her arms.
“For that reason, Professor McGonagall has made the difficult decision to call in officials from Azkaban to collect Professor Snape at their earliest convenience.”
Hermione closed her eyes.
“I’m so sorry.” Madam Pomfrey came around her desk and placed a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “I know it might not mean much to you in this moment, and it certainly can’t undo his actions, but Professor Snape was unlikely to have been in full control of himself at the time of the . . . of the . . . incident.”
Hermione’s eyes flew open. “What do you mean?”
The matron looked like she was in two minds about how much to tell her.
“Madam Pomfrey, I have a right to know,” she said evenly.
Nodding quickly, she returned to her seat and slid the tome around to face Hermione. She tapped on a paragraph at the top of the page.
“He’s been cursed. It’s an ancient and very rare condition—known as the Galvanismus curse. I’ve seen it only once before and that was a very long time ago. The curse creates electrical currents from chemical reactions within the body. It’s extremely uncomfortable and can manifest itself in a number of ways, ranging from tension and irritability to completely uncontrolled behaviour. It seems that, in Professor Snape’s case, the reactions were particularly enhanced by emotional turmoil, feeding off strong or overwhelming feelings and sensations.”
Hermione stared at the description of the curse as Madam Pomfrey’s words caused her heart to sink lower and lower, until it felt like it was resting on her bladder.
“Unfortunately, in severe situations, the curse can induce a type of dissociative disorder in which the electrical activity builds to such an extent that an individual’s mind can split, creating a second personality with distinct memories and behaviour patterns. From our conversations with Professor Snape, it would seem that he has no memory of the event, despite the fact that it was retrieved from his mind for the purposes of the pensieve. He doesn’t, however, deny that he was responsible.”
Hermione’s throat was dry as she struggled to force the words out.
“It doesn’t seem like the type of curse that Voldemort would inflict,” she said. “It’s too slow, insidious, not like the cruciatus which gives instant . . . satisfaction.”
Poppy Pomfrey looked grim.
“No, we don’t think it was he who perpetrated this particular curse.”
“Then who?”
The older woman’s hands trembled as she straightened her starched collar.
“The Galvanismus, although a curse, is cast for protection,” she said. “It is also from the family of parasitic curses which are not created, but passed on from one individual to the next.”
Hermione frowned. “I don’t understand. How can it possibly be protective?”
“The curse, through its actions on the body, allows one to cling to life in the most extreme of circumstances. In the face of death, this curse will sustain the body, barely alive, for as long as required. It is undoubtedly what saved Professor Snape from dying from Nagini’s bite in the Shrieking Shack. No one, including Snape himself, has been able to determine the nature of his survival until now. In fact, until yesterday, he was completely unaware that he had been afflicted.”
“Who gave it to him?” Hermione’s voice shook, as she willed away the inevitable answer.
Poppy Pomfrey looked her in the eye.
“The man who loved him like a son. Who likely carried the curse for many years but had the mental and emotional fortitude to control it. Who released it to him when he asked to be killed, rather than using it to sustain himself. You know him as Albus Dumbledore.”
Hermione’s eyes filled. “Does Professor Snape know?”
Tears ran down Poppy Pomfrey’s cheeks. “Yes.”
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The Quickening