Bounded in a Nutshell

Chapter 2

Bounded in a Nutshell

Hermione decided to take the Tube home that night. Despite the heaviness of her book bag and the weariness of her limbs, she preferred riding to Apparating to Grimmauld Place. She had not been able to shake the fear of Apparating to the house since the war, and every attempt she made was accompanied by anxiety. The endeavor had become so taxing that she had begun to fear she might splinch herself one evening. Furthermore, she longed to be alone with her reflections before joining her friends.

For two months, she had spent a significant part of every day...with the exception of the time she took to fetch her parents from Australia...watching over Severus Snape and monitoring his care. She had researched his case so extensively that she could recite every note on his chart verbatim. In the process, she had become deeply invested in his prognosis.

Her housemates regarded her devotion to Snape ambivalently. Harry was relieved that she had saved him, and eager to proffer his thanks and apologies to the man, questioned her nightly. Ron had found her vigilance noble and selfless for the first fortnight, but had since decided that it proved a lack of mental fortitude; "bloody obsessive," he had grumbled just that morning.

Finally, she had some happy news to relay to them. It did appear, at least, that he was going to regain consciousness, and the wound had stopped weeping blood. Nonetheless, she found herself in the throes of a deep and unnamable melancholy.

Hermione had always taken refuge in juggling a multitude of daunting tasks. Left to its own devices, her mind became a swirling eddy of self-doubt and anxiety, but given a variety of tasks to organize and manage, it was a well-directed stream of energy. Unlike Ron and Harry, who had embraced the unstructured days following the war, Hermione found herself restless and unsettled.

She had focused at first upon retrieving her parents and restoring their memories. When she had discharged that task more ably than she had expected, she turned her attentions to Professor Snape.

He had needed attention. Severus Snape's condition proved to be complex and unknowable, much like the man himself. First, there was the matter of blood loss. Hermione herself had urged the Healers to investigate transfusions, enhancing the Muggle methods with magic. The experiment worked, to everyone's awe. Unfortunately, the bite continued to open and bleed, sometimes after having stayed closed for 48 hours.

To further complicate matters, the potions that countered the neurological effects of Nagini's bite compounded the bleeding. While a certain potion might allow the seizures and tremors to abate, it might also thin his blood and invite hemorrhage. The Healers had been frustrated and weary. None had offered hope.

Hermione, though, encouraged by Harry, had insisted that the Healers pursue every avenue open to them. This had frequently meant long nights of research and note taking, showing his attendants the avenues where they only saw dead ends. Finally, he had been upgraded from critical care to serious care. The Healers, who had at first resented Hermione's relentless questions and challenges, came to regard her with fondness and respect.

Despite the improvement, Hermione stayed. She stayed because she did not only want the man to live, but to regain consciousness. She stayed because she felt that the wizarding world had wronged him for 18 years. She stayed because she was accustomed to untying Gordian knots for her best friend, and her best friend desperately wanted the man to live. Most importantly, though, she stayed because the specter of idle, empty days terrified her.

Hermione was jolted from her reverie by the train lurching to a stop. A young skinhead cursed at her as she fell against him. Mumbling her apologies, she made her way out of the Underground and greeted the dying light.

"Filth! Mudblood! Spawn of blood traitors, here in the home of my ancestors!"

"Hey, 'Mione, you're home!" Ron shouted over the painting. He embraced and kissed her enthusiastically.

"Whoa, Ron, let me put my bags down at least!" Hermione laughed wearily. "Let a girl get through the door and shut that damned portrait up!"

"Stain of humanity! Soiling the purity of my home! Rubbish..."

The strident shrieks died away as Hermione pulled the portrait's heavy, velvet curtains closed.

Ron chuckled. "Is this place mental or what? Do you reckon we'll ever get used to the old bat caterwauling like that?"

"Oh, dear, Ronald, I fear you've mixed your metaphors...unlike cats, bats do not caterwaul," Hermione lectured, wagging her finger at him with mock exasperation.

"Hey! You sound just like you did our first year," he groaned teasingly. "Speaking of bats, how's Snape?"

"Ronald!"

"I'm just asking..."

"Professor Snape is doing... better," she answered icily. "I, however, am horrified that you'd even think of calling that man names! After all he went through! After all he did for Harry! How spiteful and ungrateful can you be, Ronald?" Her voice grew shrill and strident, surprising both her and Ron.

"Hey, Hermione, I'm sorry. You're right. Just habit, I suppose. I won't call him a bat any more." Ron looked at Hermione contritely.

She clapped her hand to her forehead and looked at him in confusion. "Look, Ron, I'm sorry. I know you're used to calling him that... but..." She trailed off.

"Long day?" Ron asked almost timidly.

The corner of her mouth turned upward slightly. "Long two months. Please, just do me a favor. Show Professor Snape some respect. He's suffered so much. And we would all probably be dead if he hadn't been helping us."

"Blimey, Hermione, I know that. It's just habit, OK? " Ron looked at her and smiled. "You know what you need?"

"Besides the chance to sit down and rest my feet, you mean?" she asked warily. It seemed people were always telling her what she needed these days.

"You need a night out and a good drink. Come on! It'll be fun," he pushed, noticing her skeptical expression. "We've all got war stipends from the Ministry, and I want to take my girl out."

Hermione tried to brush aside her growing irritation with Ron, but it crept into her voice anyway. "Ron, that stipend is to reimburse us for the education we lost when we were fighting! You cannot go blowing it on 'nights out' and frivolity! You should be studying, trying to get ahead!"

Ron's features hardened almost instantly. Looking at him, Hermione knew she had crossed a line.

"Don't you dare lecture me about how I spend my money and my time. We lived in a bleeding tent for almost a year, eating food we foraged and wondering when it was all going to crash down. I lost..." Ron gulped and squinted, and Hermione knew he was willing away two months' worth of unshed tears. She felt a twinge of regret.

"I'm not frivolous, Hermione," he spat. "And I'm not irresponsible, or stupid, or any of the other things you seem to think I am. But I've had a long, hard go of it this last year, and I'm going to take one night to go out and let someone else pour my drinks while I relax and act like my life isn't completely mental." He stared down at her angrily before he turned towards the coat rack. "You can come or not, suit yourself."

Shame flooded Hermione's mind. She couldn't say exactly why she wanted...needed...to control their lives the way she did. It was not a conscious decision so much as a fear that the edges of the universe would fray and ultimately tear if she didn't manage to keep herself...along with Ron and Harry...on the path to some goal. "Ron, wait. I'll come. You're absolutely right. I'd like to go out," she called out to him, even as she became aware of the fact that it would be nothing more than a penitential activity on her part.

He turned and smiled. "Great! Let's Floo the Burrow and see if Harry and Gin want to come with us. Diagon Alley?" Hermione nodded, smiling feebly.

Soon, Ron and Hermione were standing in the Leaky Cauldron, and Ron and Harry were bellowing their greetings to each other. As they took their seats in the old, run-down pub, Hermione felt a brief thrill at the thought of a leisurely time with her best friends. She smiled warmly at Ginny, who was holding Harry's hand.

Tom, the Leaky Cauldron's barman, shuffled to their table with a wide, slack smile. "Welcome, Mr. Potter, welcome! What can I get you?" he asked eagerly.

"Hi, Tom!" Harry grinned. "Well, let's see, I'm guessing Ron'll have a shot of Ogden's..." Ron grinned and nodded. "Spiced wine for Hermione, a butterbeer for our under-aged witch..." Ginny giggled and elbowed him. "That leaves Grimalkin and Paddock's Best Ale for me." Harry turned to look at everyone questioningly. "Did I call it right?"

"Yeah, mate, perfect!" Ron laughed.

Hermione smiled. "If you'd applied that same skill of deduction when we were in school, I wouldn't have had to do your essays for six years," she scolded good-naturedly.

"Yes, Professor," Harry said with mock contrition. "Please don't deduct house points."

"That's my girl, ever the swot!" Ron laughed, pulling her to him. Hermione punched him lightly on the arm and laughed along.

"Thanks, Tom, that'll do for now," Harry said, and the barman shuffled off again.

Everything was just like normal. Except, it wasn't.

Harry's smile, Hermione noticed, was a little too wide. Although he and Ginny held hands, there was plenty of space between them. Ginny, like Harry, smiled brightly, but sat a bit too erectly. Ron guffawed loudly at every joke, leaning into Hermione's space and squeezing her around the waist ever so often. To the outside world, they appeared to be two young couples celebrating a night off. To Hermione, however, they looked like four nervous actors who had over-rehearsed their parts.

Hermione shook the feeling off. Look at it like a school assignment, she thought. You've been assigned the project of enjoying your life. Apply yourself, Hermione.

She smiled weakly. She could do this. She could perform, especially with the whispering, peeking audience the group had naturally gathered in the pub. Soon, she was laughing as heartily as her friends, giving the occasional nod of greeting to an awed onlooker. At some point, Ron naturally announced he was hungry, and plates of Cornish pasties, fish, and mushy peas were passed around.

As the night wore on, the laughter grew louder in direct proportion to Hermione's anxiety. "Oi, Tom!" Ron called out raucously. "How about another Ogden's?" Tom grinned and nodded. Ron looked at Hermione. "J'u want one, 'Mione?"

She felt herself bristle anew. "No, Ronald, I do not want one. Don't you think you've drunk quite enough for both of us?"

The smile that had so animated Ron's face froze as his eyes widened. "Get off it, Hermione, not tonight. Let's have some fun, OK?" He scowled darkly.

"Fun, Ron? Making a spectacle of yourself, waking up with a hangover tomorrow, what part of that is fun? Please, enlighten me," Hermione spat. The bitterness that she felt...that she heard in her own voice...alarmed her.

Harry looked down, and Ginny looked from Hermione to Ron and back again. As Hermione read the discomfort written across her friends' faces, she felt a jagged stab of guilt. Then, the guilt was gone, swallowed up in resentment.

Why, she wondered, do they always put me in the position of taking care of them if they're just going to resent me for it?

"Seems to me you might want to at least graduate before you decide to start grading us, Professor," Ron growled, exploiting Hermione's well-known Achilles' heel. "You've been spending too much time with Snape lately. You don't know how to have fun any more. Oh, wait," he said, as if he had just remembered something, "You never learned how to have fun, did you, Hermione? I bet you lied about your boggart in Fifth Year. I'll bet it wasn't a failed test. I'll bet that when the examiner opened that box a gaggle of people laughing and enjoying themselves jumped out."

Harry coughed as Grimalkin and Paddock's Best sprayed from his nose. Ginny bit her lip and quaked silently.

"Can't you just see it?" Ron laughed as Hermione burned with fury.

"They open the box, and these people pop up with drinks and noisemakers, and poor Hermione runs screaming." Everyone laughed openly...everyone except Hermione, who sat quietly. Looking around, she noticed that a fair number of the Leaky Cauldron's patrons were staring and laughing as well.

Anger boiled over within her. "Oh, very nice, Ronald," she sneered. "I'll bet you've been practicing that little joke for days. You must be very proud of yourself for remembering such a long sentence." Her voice echoed shrilly, embarrassing her.

Ginny and Harry gawked at her in surprise. "It was only a joke, Hermione," Ginny said quietly.

"Yeah, since when do you remember Hermione taking a joke?" Ron laughed bitterly.

"Take it easy, Ron," Harry started.

"But why, Harry?" Hermione's voice quavered. She felt like a runaway train. "Ron's best jokes are always at my expense. Such untapped talent! But I suppose he has to distinguish himself somehow, after all."

Ron rose sharply. "Guess you'd like to see yourself home, Hermione," he said roughly. Fury contorted his reddened features.

Rising to face him, Hermione all but shouted, "I never asked you to see me home, Ron, and I'll only do so when I wish to be splinched."

Ron's fists clenched at his sides, and he pursed his lips. Turning angrily, he strode out of the pub. Several emotions warred within her: shame at provoking him, sadness at their inability to relate, and finally, a dark thrill of pleasure at having been able to antagonize him. Sickened, she ran to the lavatory.

She gripped the sides of the pedestal sink and leaned over. Her eyes burned and watered. What is wrong with me? she wondered. Replaying her altercation with Ron, she felt a deep sense of shame. Ron always looked after her solicitously. He loved her, she knew. She loved him, too. So why can't I stop antagonizing him?

Hermione leaned forward and placed her forehead against the lavatory mirror. She had never thought of herself as a spiteful person, but the proof was irrefutable. She had goaded and provoked Ron when all he had wanted was to show her a good time. He had lost so much more than she had during the war. At the thought of Fred, Hermione choked and began to cry softly. Why can't I be fair to Ron, she wondered.

She jumped when she heard the lavatory door open quietly. "Hermione?" a soft voice queried. Hermione stood up straight and tried to wipe her tears away.

"Hey, Ginny, I'm sorry," she started. Ginny lingered at the partially opened door uncertainly for a moment before closing the distance between herself and Hermione. She put a tentative hand on her friend's shoulder.

"Hermione, Ron didn't mean anything by it," Ginny said gently.

Hermione sniffed and looked at Ginny. "Oh, Gin, I know. I do. It's not Ron. I'm just tired and... and... " She searched futilely for an adequate word. Ginny looked at her understandingly.

"Hermione, I know things have been hard, but they'll get back to normal," Ginny murmured. "Please, please, though, let up on Ron a little bit. He's trying so hard, and he's missing Fred so much."

Hermione put her hands over her face and turned around. "Oh, Ginny, I know he does. I do, too, and I am so sorry. I've ruined everyone's night. I swear I don't know what has got into me." She winced when she heard Ginny's feet shift on the floor, imagining her friend leaving her in disgust.

She was surprised to find herself enfolded in a warm embrace. Ginny patted her soothingly. "It's OK, Hermione. Things will get back to normal. We'll all sort ourselves out."

"I suppose so," Hermione mumbled, attempting to smile at her friend.

"Now, Harry'll have a team of Aurors searching for us if we stay in here all night," Ginny said briskly. "So come on, Granger, make yourself presentable."

Hermione laughed weakly. "I don't know if I can! Look at me, I'm a mess." Her image in the mirror confirmed her statement. Her eyes were swollen and red, and tears were drying in streaks upon her cheeks.

"You are a mess," Ginny agreed, "but we'll make a decent-looking woman out of you. I'm assuming you don't want to go out of here with your face all splotchy?" Hermione shook her head dumbly.

"I thought not. Aufero Rubor!" Ginny intoned, waving her wand in a circular motion before Hermione's face.

Hermione surveyed herself in the mirror. Miraculously, her eyes were clear, and the red splotches on her cheeks were gone. "You have to teach me that spell, Ginny," she giggled. "That's dead useful."

Ginny shrugged. "Yeah, well, if you have to be the only girl in the Weasley Clan, you have to learn some creative spell-work. Come on now, let's get out of this nasty old loo."

Hermione looked around and shuddered. No one could call the Leaky Cauldron's lavatory clean on the best of days, but tonight it seemed to have outdone itself. They walked arm in arm to the pub's wall where Harry waited.

"G'bye, Mr. Potter! Do come back!" Tom called after the three friends as they exited through the wall. Stumbling into the bustle of Diagon Alley, Hermione was astonished to see Ron leaning against a lamppost.

He looked at her sheepishly. "Sorry, 'Mione. I shouldn't have teased you like that," he offered meekly.

Hermione flushed guiltily. "No, Ron, I'm sorry. It's not my business how much you drink or how much you spend. I don't know what came over me."

Ron gave her a crooked grin. "If you weren't always looking after me, I wouldn't know it was you. I'd think someone had gone and Polyjuiced themselves. I'd call the Aurors."

Hermione laughed as a fleeting sense of normality fluttered within her. She offered Ron her arm, and they walked down wizarding London's main thoroughfare behind Harry and Ginny. This was how life was supposed to be.

The feeling was short-lived. Ron and Hermione almost bumped into Harry as he stopped short, gawking at the storefront formerly occupied by Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. "No one wastes any time around here, do they?" Harry muttered bitterly.

Hermione, Ron, and Ginny stood silently as Harry stared into the blackened windows. Just beneath a memorial poster featuring Fortescue's smiling countenance, an advertisement blinked garishly. "Coming Soon! Jingly Sickle's Wizarding Arcade!" it proclaimed.

Hermione remembered eating at Florean Fortescue's with Harry and Ron at the beginning of their third year. She recalled the fatherly interest the shop's titular owner had taken in Harry and how the man's disappearance had so unsettled her friend. A familiar malaise overthrew the fledgling sense of comfort she had felt and enthroned itself in her mind.

Ginny slipped an understanding arm around Harry's shoulder as Ron and Hermione moved forward to surround their friend. Harry narrowed his eyes as he considered the darkened storefront.

"Shame about Fortescue," Ron said brusquely. "He was a good guy." Hermione and Ginny nodded mutely. Harry resolutely turned his back upon the abandoned ice cream parlor, and Ron, Hermione, and Ginny followed him down the alley.

Hermione knew that the quiet moment in front of Florean Fortescue's had been their own private valediction to childhood and its comforts, to a time when ice cream and the company of friends made everything right. Walking away, she knew that there was no such thing as "back to normal." They had all been initiated into a terrifying, new reality, and the world they had once known lay in ashes behind them.

Author's Notes: Thanks to Angel Mischa for her phenomenal talent as a beta. Thanks to all who have left encouraging reviews. You are, as they say, the "cat's pajama's!" The title of this chapter comes from Hamlet: "I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself the king of infinite space were it not but that I had bad dreams."