Chapter Two: Awakenings

Disclaimer : the characters aren't mine, the Potterverse isn't mine, even the prompt is someone else's!

Many thanks to my helpful, brilliant beta, ladyinthecloak, you are fabulous!

Chapter 2: Awakenings

June 1998

As the adrenaline levels in her bloodstream gradually subsided, the fight-or-flight response was less easily stimulated, diminishing the tremors and withdrawal that she had been exhibiting whenever anyone came near. Her appetite improved; her sleep settled with the help of a mild sedative, and as her brain began asserting itself over the raw, unchecked emotions, Hermione began to think again.

She noticed at first the room in which she had been spending all her time. It was bare of all but the necessary furniture; a hospital-style bed, a bedside cabinet, a single hard chair, and a small, battered locker in the corner. The walls were standard issue, National Health Service drab, with peeling paint on the window sills and worn linoleum covering the floor. There was a nondescript print on one wall and flimsy curtains unsuccessfully covering the windows. The usual hand basin, hand towel dispenser and call bell pronounced the nature of the room as one of many such rooms housing patients in Britain at any one time. This one was particularly tatty.

Hermione had no idea of where she was or how she had got there. The last thing she could recall was the feeling of total abandonment when Snape had left her in the alleyway. She remembered the kindly voices of some of the nurses caring for her over the last few weeks, encouraging her to eat and gently helping her use the bathroom down the corridor. She had been so overwhelmed by depression that she had taken little notice of faces or names and had passively accepted their ministrations without uttering a single word.

The doctor in charge of her case had been to see her several times, but in the absence of any sort of response, he was at a loss as to how to help her. She assumed that she had mentally shut down into a protective shell while her brain processed all that had occurred. Whilst still very depressed, she was now beginning to function more normally.

The hospital gown she was wearing was plain, but covered her decently, and her skin showed no evidence of the bruises she knew she must have sustained at the hands of her abductors. It appeared that she had been there for some weeks. She got off the bed and looked in the drawer of the cabinet. There was an unused pad of paper and a pen, the ubiquitous Bible, and a box of tissues. The small cupboard below was empty. Crossing the room, she opened the locker. Within were only her clothes and shoes.

She peeked out of the door, into a short corridor with two closed doors on the opposite wall. There was no-one visible, but she could hear voices and some soft music beyond one of the doors. Returning to her bed, she sat down and contemplated her situation. It was not promising.

Suddenly, the door swung open and a friendly, round-faced nurse bustled in.

"Oh, it's nice to see you up and about, dearie. We were beginning to wonder if you were ever going to improve. You had us quite worried, you know!" she scolded gently. "My name is Margaret, and I am assigned to your care. Is there anything you need at the moment? Dinner will be soon, and you can come and join the others in the Dining Room if you wish."

"No, thank you," replied Hermione politely. "If it's not too much trouble, I would prefer to eat in here."

"Not a problem; your meal will be brought up in a few minutes. Now, I must be off to let Dr Richardson know that you are up." Margaret finished changing the water in the jug atop the cabinet and left the room.

'Now what do I do?' Hermione asked herself as she waited for the inevitable questions from the doctor. 'I can't tell him the truth or he will assume I am crazy. I have to get out of this place, and that won't happen unless I can convince them that I have recovered.'

The doctor had obviously decided to let her eat in peace, as he did not appear at her door until half an hour after the plates had been cleared away. For once she had eaten reasonably well and felt a lot better for it. She had formulated what she hoped was a believable explanation for her behaviour.

"Good evening, Miss... er?"

"Granger, Hermione Granger." She answered his unspoken question.

"Well, Miss Granger, I am pleased to be able to talk to you finally. You may be unaware that you have been here for some weeks, obviously suffering from some sort of post-traumatic stress. We have been unable to establish the cause of your breakdown, and I am hoping you will feel able to tell me a little about it now," he concluded gently as he sat down on the chair beside the bed.

She looked up at him sadly and nodded.

"I don't really want to go into details, but I was involved in a longstanding family feud, and because of that I have lost all contact with my family and friends. I think the last straw was finding out that things had been said... and done, which precluded me from ever returning to those I loved." None of what she had said was technically untrue – if you counted the Wizarding World as her extended family.

"Is there no hope of reconciliation?"

"No. None whatsoever. What's done is done, I just needed some time to come to terms with it. I have to pull myself together and move on with life."

"There is no hurry, we won't be kicking you out of the door until we are sure you can manage. Would you like to consider a course of antidepressants or some counselling, Miss Granger?"

'Not bloody likely: the last thing I want is for my thinking to be clouded with chemicals and a counsellor to ask far too many awkward questions,' she thought bitterly.

"No, thank you, Doctor. I think I would be better to deal with this myself. I appreciate all you have done for me while I have been here, but I am feeling a lot better now, although I am aware I have a long way to go yet," she admitted, to the doctor, and to herself.

"I will ask Amanda, our Social Worker, to see you. She will help you find accommodation and employment if you need it and ensure you are able to support yourself when you leave. In the meantime I want you to rest and give yourself time to recover properly, as I will not be recommending your discharge until I am quite satisfied that you are capable of looking after yourself," he admonished quietly as he left.

She flopped back on the bed, feeling drained with the effort of putting up a good front. She realised that she would have to work hard to maintain a positive outward demeanour when inside she felt a great well of hopelessness that would be so easy to succumb to again.

She refused to go back there, to that swirling abyss of despair. She slept.

***

The wan figure on the bed twitched, the first spontaneous movement he had made for weeks. A raw groan issued from his throat, then he rolled over and returned to his former motionless state. A ward placed on his bed alerted the attending Mediwitch to his change of position. This was the sign that they had been waiting for, the sign that his level of consciousness was lightening. She entered the room cautiously, at once disappointed and relieved to find him still deeply asleep. She waved her wand over his body, confirmed her suspicion that he was finally beginning to improve, and then went off to inform the Healer-in-charge.

Within a week, his movements in the bed became more frequent, the normal tossing and turning one would expect during sleep – yet he did not awaken. His occasional grunts and moans would startle anyone in the room at the time, as all were anxious about his reaction upon his eventual return to awareness.

The day he woke, he was thankfully alone. No-one was there to witness his sudden lurch up into the sitting position; no-one was present to hear the single word he cried out.

"Granger!"

He had been increasingly tormented by visions of the young witch as he regained consciousness. Mingled with scenes of her final humiliation at the hands of Voldemort, in a surrealistic progression, were fleeting memories of her in earlier years. A bushy-haired, overeager first-year, eyes almost popping out of her head at Sorting; that infernal hand, forever plaguing him in Potions; the fiery look on her face whilst defending Black in the Shrieking Shack, and the fear when the werewolf transformed shortly after; the satisfaction when she outshone her empty-headed peers at the Yule Ball; the unfulfilled need for acknowledgement of her near-perfect brewing, yet an underlying acceptance of the reason why it was never forthcoming; the look, that damn look of trust in her face, before he left her in that alleyway.

His eyes flew open with a start. Looking around, he realised that he was at St Mungo's. Judging by the growth of beard on his face, had been there for some weeks. He gingerly reached up and felt his neck. A long, slightly tender ridge was the only evidence of the devastating wound he had suffered from Nagini's bite. His body was thin, having been sustained magically while he was unconscious. He felt weak, but whole.

On the chair beside the bed, he noticed a copy of the Daily Prophet, left by some unknown visitor. Picking up the newspaper, he immediately noticed the headline.

"SEVERUS SNAPE, HERO OF THE WIZARDING WORLD."

Flabbergasted, he read on.

"Today, at the Ministry of Magic, the Wizengamot declared Severus Snape to be not only cleared of all charges that had been laid against him, but also to be considered one of the heroes of the Second Wizarding War and defeat of Voldemort. Due to the indefatigable effort of Harry Potter, Snape's activities as a deep cover spy in the Death Eater camp have been revealed. Potter has provided incontrovertible evidence that Snape's Unbreakable Vow to Albus Dumbledore, who was near death by his own hand, forced him to act in order to further Dumbledore's own plan to win the War. Furthermore, evidence given by students of Hogwarts while he was Headmaster has shown that he did his best to protect them in very difficult circumstances. For this reason Snape has been awarded an Order of Merlin, First Class."

Snape dropped the Prophet in shock. Since when had Potter been a champion for his cause? Then he spotted the lily on a small table and realised there was only one person who was likely to have brought it.

'So, Potter finally got a clue. About time he realised I was trying to protect his unworthy hide all these years. If only his mother had been there to do the job herself...' His train of thought stopped abruptly, when he recalled all those private memories that he had passed to Lily's son, sure of his own imminent demise. Studying the lily again, he contemplated the implications of its presence and Potter's work in his defence. He really needed to talk to Potter, disagreeable though that task would be. But for the moment, he had just about expended the small amount of energy he had available. On the edge of his awareness, he knew there was something else, something he had to do, but was too tired to consider it further. He slept.

***

Harry, Ron, Ginny, and the older members of the Order were having a small low-key celebration. They had heard the news about the Wizengamot's final decision on Snape earlier in the day and were toasting the result of their hard work.

"So, did you see Severus today, Harry?" asked Molly while deftly clearing the plates from their meal.

"He was still unconscious, but apparently has been stirring more. The Healers are very hopeful that he may waken soon. Just in case, I left a copy of today's Daily Prophet beside his bed. I hope that if he sees that headline first, it will reassure him of the outcome of the War and his safety," Harry replied, linking his arm through Ginny's. "You know, I appreciate the help you all have given me with this. I know some of you," he looked at Ron, "weren't convinced of his innocence at first, but despite that you gave me your full support. I really appreciate that and hope that when Snape comes around, well... he will too."

Ron nearly lost the mouthful of food he was chewing at the thought of Snape showing gratitude to his least favourite students. "Yeah, sure, Harry, and broomsticks will become self-cleaning!"

"OK, OK, I know that is highly unlikely. He's more likely to hex us with something nasty just for our interference with his nice comfortable death, than thank us, but you do see now why I had to help him?" Harry said, chuckling at Ron's discomposure.

Ron raised his hands in surrender. "I give in! He's a nasty old git, but no-one deserves to go to Azkaban just for that. I realise he did what he had to, but I still plan on avoiding him whenever possible. I just wish Hermione was around to see him cleared. She would have been a right pain because she was right all along, but I would be willing to put up with any number of 'I told you so's just to hear her voice again... or Fred's," he added sadly.

The gathered company sobered and silence reigned for a few moments. Then Harry lifted his glass.

"To Hermione, Fred, and all the others who gave their lives for our freedom!"

"Hear, hear!" echoed around the room.

***

A/N: Based on prompt 93. "Someone has his or her powers stripped away for misuse. Did he/she lose them because of actual misuse or was it a set up? How do they get them back?"