Chapter Three: Grieving

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

Many thanks to my clever beta, ladyinthecloak; you are the best! Thanks to the readers for all the lovely reviews so far.

Chapter Three: Grieving

July 1998

It had taken several weeks, but by the middle of July, Hermione had managed to convince Dr Richardson that she was well enough to be discharged. She had forced herself to eat the plain but nourishing meals, taken walks around the untended grounds of the hospital, and quietly chatted with the staff. She had to be careful to avoid topics such as school, family, and friends, but found that by asking people to speak about their own lives, they quickly became distracted from hers. She hid her continued depression and fear for the future under a façade of normal behaviour and activities. Leon had tried to engage her in ‘debriefing’ sessions, and she had skilfully made use of his lax attitude to work by the simple expedient of not talking to him. He had quickly given up in disgust and complained to anyone who would listen that there was nothing much wrong with her and he was wasting his time, which was exactly the impression she was trying to cultivate. Her magic was gone; her emotions were a shambles; but her intellect was still quite intact and capable of running circles around Leon and his ilk.

Margaret was a little more persistent. In her well-intentioned way, she was determined to find out more about the mystery patient. She would settle herself in for a good natter at least once a day and was most disappointed when her thinly veiled probes into Hermione’s past were somehow deflected. Hermione gently but firmly steered the conversation away to other, safer topics. Asking after Margaret’s beloved grandchildren usually did the trick.

Late one afternoon, Amanda had come to see her. It was time to sort out her discharge. Hermione had to have a place to live and a means of income before she would be released. As the in-house social worker, Amanda’s task was to facilitate this process.

“Right, then,” Amanda started without prevarication. “We need to find you a job. What are your qualifications and your work experience?”

“Umm, well, I don’t have any A Levels or GSCE passes,” Hermione had to admit. She didn’t think OWLs, even with Outstanding grades, were likely to get her very far in Muggle employment.

“That’s all right, I understand. Not everyone is born to be academic,” the social worker soothed, assuming Hermione had sat the exams and failed.

If only she knew she was talking to the so-called brightest witch of her age, Hermione thought wryly. Not only did she have to hide her past magical ability, she also had to cover her intelligence. It wouldn’t do for Amanda to become suspicious as to why she had no qualifications.

“Do you have any work experience?” Amanda asked next.

That, Hermione could answer. She had done some casual work at a local coffee shop when she was home for the summer holidays to earn some spare cash for treats such as books, good quality parchment, and gifts for her friends.

“I’ve done a little waitressing in cafes,” she admitted, then hastened to add, “but it was only casual work. I don’t have any references.” She did not want to answer difficult questions about the past.

“OK, that’s a start. I’ll see what I can come up with. Now as far as living arrangements goes, is there anyone you could stay with, even temporarily?”

“No,” stated Hermione baldly. “No-one.”

“Then I suggest the local Youth Hostel until you find something more permanent. Dr Richardson is prepared to write you a sick note so you can get a basic benefit until we can sort out a job for you.” Amanda was all business as she jotted down notes in Hermione’s file. “I’ll let you know when we have things organised, but I wouldn’t expect it would take more than a day or two.” She produced a photocopied list. “Here are the addresses of some local hostels. I wouldn’t recommend the one at Potter Place though; we have heard some disturbing reports of suspicious activity going on there,” she added.

After Amanda had left, Hermione found herself contemplating her immediate future. During her time spent waitressing in previous summers, she had decided that any length of time spent in that sort of employment would drive her crazy. Well, no crazier than I am at the moment, she acknowledged. However, with no Muggle qualifications to her name, no references, and no money, she could not afford to be choosy. At least, that sort of job would force her to interact with other people on a daily basis, which could only be a good thing. She checked out the list of hostels and decided to start making phone calls at once; the sooner she was out of this place, the better.

Severus Snape was back. He was not only back; he was back in full, acid-tongued, glowering magnificence. He was pissed off at being alive when he had for years anticipated the final tranquillity of death; he was pissed off at being fussed over incessantly by mediwitches and Healers, who told him he was not yet well enough to leave St Mungo’s; he was pissed off at being regarded as some kind of tragic hero by the general Wizarding public; and most of all he was pissed off by discovering that Harry Potter now regarded him as some sort of surrogate parent now that his enduring love for Lily had been revealed. He would much rather deal with an obnoxious, irresponsible, hate-filled Potter than this sycophantic wretch who felt he owed Snape his allegiance. Potter even wanted to take him ‘home’ to Grimmauld Place when he was finally allowed to leave the Gods-be-damned hospital! As if he hadn’t spent enough time in that dreary, unwelcoming old house over the last few years. Hell, he was pissed off just because he was alive and could be!

His wound was healed, as well as it could be. Only time would improve the scarring now. His name was cleared, and with the Order of the Merlin came a substantial lump sum payment in recognition of the contribution he had made to his community. He had his own home at Spinner’s End, thankfully now free of the murine freeloader who had been thrust upon him previously. All he really wanted was to be left alone – for once in his life left to do what he wanted, when he wanted.

Snape’s continued foul mood tipped the balance in his favour. The mediwitches, fed up with his complaints about the food and the quality of the potions they were administering, petitioned the Healer-in-charge to discharge the dark, scowling wizard. After all, if he could put so much energy into terrifying the staff, he could certainly manage to terrify a house-elf or two. They were unaware that Snape did not own any house-elves.

He gathered up his meagre possessions; his wand, the copy of the Daily Prophet with the news of his freedom, his still-bloodstained clothing, and a single lily. As he was about to leave the room, the door burst open, and in tumbled Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, followed more sedately by Minerva McGonagall and Molly Weasley.

“Oh, good, you haven’t left yet,” gasped Harry, still short of breath from the rush upstairs.

“Evidently,” sneered Snape, awaiting an explanation of their presence.

“We just wanted to, well…” Harry faltered, pinned by Snape’s gaze.

Molly Weasley took pity on Harry and took over. “We would like to invite you to dinner at Grimmauld Place, once you have settled into your home.”

“And I have come to offer you your old position at Hogwarts back. Potions or Defence, whichever you prefer,” Minerva added.

“My preference is for peace and quiet. Thank you, Molly, for your invitation, but I believe there will be enough to keep me occupied at Spinner’s End for some time before I can indulge in social engagements. Minerva, I must respectfully decline your offer. If I don’t have to teach another cauldron-exploding, ingredient-mashing fool ever again, I will be eternally grateful.” He nodded politely to the two witches, then turned to Harry. “Mr Potter, perhaps you could spend some time with Remus Lupin, he would be able to answer your questions about your parents far better than I.”

His visitors glanced at each other, none eager to perform the painful duty of informing Snape of the tragic facts.

“Don’t you know…? Didn’t anyone tell you?” asked Molly finally, a tear forming despite her efforts to remain calm.

“What?” demanded Snape, impatient to be off.

“That Remus Lupin didn’t survive the Final Battle.” She turned away and sobbed quietly, her personal loss once again brought to mind.

Time seemed to stand still for everyone in the room. Snape paled and turned to Minerva. “Who… who else?”

“Nymphadora, Fred Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Colin Creevey at Hogwarts. Moody, I think you were aware, perished whilst moving Harry last summer. Dobby took a knife aimed at Harry by Bellatrix Lestrange whilst fleeing Malfoy Manor.” She sadly recited the list of casualties.

“Tonks as well?” Suddenly, Snape’s simmering anger evaporated as if it had never existed. He flopped down on the chair as his legs failed to support him, overcome with grief. So many good people, so much talent lost forever; his life or death paled by comparison. Lupin’s death in particular hit him hard. Although he would never have admitted it to anyone, Lupin included, he had considered him as a friend. Snape could not have risked any open displays of comradeship, but the years of brewing Wolfsbane every month were not from mere duty, and his jibes at the werewolf were delivered more as a matter of form rather than with any venom. Remus Lupin had been one of the few people he had trusted.

Severus Snape wept.

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?”