Chapter 3: Waiting in Shadows

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author.

Many thanks to VIVAvivacious for her help with this chapter.

--

The steam in the bathroom was everywhere, fogging up the glass of the windows and the mirror sitting over the basin.

She was pressing her forehead against the cool tiles of the shower wall. The way it soothed the pounding of her head was the best thing that she had felt all day. It had been two days since she had been released from the infirmary and into Snape's care; guest chambers had been arranged for her alongside Snape's in the dungeons. Her body had been suffering the effects of her roiling emotions: she could barely stomach even the sight of food, she would more often than not have a severe headache, and every time she heard a noise that was out of place, her body would twitch uncomfortably in response.

It had taken the past day and a half to get used to the feeling of having some semblance of privacy. Snape would check on her twice a day to ensure she was neither having a breakdown nor harming herself in any way. She shook her head, curling her right hand into a fist beside her face. She had thought about harming herself a few times, but in the end she decided it would be fruitless. The only thing that would make her feel better was a well-placed Avada in her direction.

Sighing heavily, Hermione pushed off from the wall and stood beneath the showerhead, allowing the hot water to beat down on her as she rinsed conditioner from her hair.

After turning the taps off, she stepped out of the stall and blindly grasped for a towel. When she found nothing on the rack, she frowned. Sticking her arm out in the direction of the doorway, she summoned a towel from the bedroom and wiped her face on it before tucking it around her body. She made her way into the bedroom, pulling out a slightly oversized black sweater and an old pair of jeans and slipped them on after her undergarments.

She went to the sitting room, eyelids heavy from weariness and crying. She was certain she had no more tears left in her body after the past few days. Hermione felt like there was nothing left in her for anything else. She had not looked at a book since Grimmauld Place, she didn't even bother picking up a quill, and she hadn't seen anyone but Snape and Madam Pomfrey in days. None of her friends had come to see her since the day she had awoken from her unconscious state. And why should they? All the friends she ever had were in some way connected to Ron.

Her heart clenched hard in her chest before it returned to its slightly elevated beat. Her moment of weakness was proving to be one of her greatest losses. Closing her eyes for a moment, she tried to clear her head of everything, only to find it was all but impossible to block out the image of Ron's empty, blue eyes.

'Forgive me, Ron,' she said softly into the empty sitting room.

'Your friend would not approve of this behaviour, Miss Granger,' said a low voice from behind the chair she was curled up in.

She sat up a little straighter and waited for Snape to walk around and sit in the adjacent armchair. 'Pardon me for feeling sorry for myself after having just murdered one of my best friends,' she replied, frowning.

'Miss Granger, how many times must I reiterate you were not at fault?' Snape asked calmly. 'It could not be helped. Greyback, for all his lack of grandeur, is more powerful than either Bellatrix Lestrange or Lucius Malfoy. You were weak, and he took advantage of this. I am only relieved he did not assault your person, also.'

'He didn't bite me or rape me,' she whispered. 'He could have if he wanted to. I was so foolish.'

'It has been but a week since the battle. This is far from over, and you know the Order needs you to perform at your usual level. This entire attack was a deliberate one; the Dark Lord knew that by doing this, it would unsettle us. To prevent him from feeling as though he has won a great victory from this, it is imperative we do not allow him that satisfaction. It is what he wants.'

Hermione looked up at Snape, shock registering vaguely at his words. 'I killed my best friend. It's not as easy as just picking up and trying to act like it never happened,' she said, a lone tear escaping to trek down her cheek.

'How do you feel?' Snape asked, surprising her once more.

'How do you mean, sir?'

'What emotions are you experiencing, Miss Granger?' he asked.

Hermione stared at him for a moment before frowning in concentration as she tried to muddle through the emotions battling for dominance within her. It was hard – she felt so dead inside, like all the good things had been ripped from her and all that was left was a shell of her former self. All her other emotions felt like something foreign to the rest of her body. There were just too many of them.

'I feel empty,' she said softly, allowing her gaze to slip from her former professor to the flames in the fireplace that were gently licking at the stones surrounding them.

The room was silent save for the soft sound of their breathing.

'I understand,' Snape said simply, drawing her focus once more back to him. 'I can understand because I, too, have been placed in a situation very similar to this one.'

'Really?' Hermione asked coldly. 'And just which one of your friends did you kill after allowing a Death Eater to get the jump on you?'

She saw anger flash through Snape's black eyes for a moment before he sucked in a breath and seemed to overlook her childish rebuttal. 'You know nothing, Miss Granger,' he said quietly, pushing himself up from the armchair.

He made his way across the room to the portrait covering its entrance, pausing for a moment once it had been opened. 'Do ensure you make an appearance at the Head Table for dinner in the Great Hall this evening,' he said before continuing through the exit and closing the portrait behind him.

As she watched him leave, a bitter taste filled her mouth. She had developed a knack over the past few days of driving Snape away when it was her want. He was trying to help her, she knew, but all she wanted was to be left to her thoughts sometimes. What she really wanted was for Harry to visit her. The last she had seen of him, Harry's green eyes had been staring at her filled with a mixture of fear, shock, and sadness. He probably wouldn't want to see her again, fearful the same could occur to him and he would die at the end of her wand, also.

She snorted mentally. It was ridiculous. A few days on her own had reduced her to thinking morbidly. She knew Harry was forgiving, but she doubted even he could overlook her killing his other best friend. She bit her tongue, willing her mind to calm. What good would it do her to sulk and pity herself for the remainder of her existence? She could not ignore everyone forever.

Snape was right. She needed to push aside everything and focus on her research for the Order. It was the only thing that she could do under the circumstances. She stuck out a hand and summoned a quill and inkbottle, leaning forward to grab her research journal from the coffee table sitting in front of her. She uncapped the bottle and dipped the quill into the ink, then opened her book to the first clean page and began to construct a list.

She didn't think she would ever get over Ron, but she could bury herself under research and work towards bringing down Voldemort. After the war was over, she had no idea what she would do to distract herself, but she had some time, and she would take advantage of it.

She remained undisturbed for half an hour, writing until her clock chimed to alert her there were fifteen minutes until dinner in the Great Hall would begin.

She didn't want to go, but Snape had been adamant, and who was she to refuse? After all, was it not he who had prevented her from being arrested and dragged to the Ministry and Azkaban? Although, I probably deserve to be, she thought as she went to her room and snatched out a set of plain, black semi-formal robes from her cupboard to wear over her jeans and sweater to dinner. Once she had tamed her hair into a somewhat-acceptable braid, she left her quarters and headed up to the Hall.

She entered through the side door as she had been instructed by Snape the day before and walked to the Head Table, uncertainty filling her. It was unnerving to be able to see all the students from their elevated position, especially as a large number of them would stare at her and whisper amongst themselves. She swallowed, her throat a little dry, and made her way directly over to where Snape sat and planted herself in the chair between him and Poppy Pomfrey.

'Good evening, Miss Granger,' Snape acknowledged.

'Good evening, Professor,' she answered quietly. 'I apologise if I was a little late.'

Snape dismissed her apology with a slight wave of his hand just as dinner appeared on the table, covering most of the spare surfaces with platters of food, carafes filled with gravies and sauces, and bowls filled with vegetables and salad. Hermione stared at the feast before her and was surprised by her lack of appetite. She had only eaten a piece of toast at breakfast that morning along with several cups of tea, so she assumed the smell of food might entice her stomach to desire it.

She stared at her empty plate for a moment but was startled when, from beside her, Snape started to pile roast chicken and steamed vegetables onto her plate before dousing it with a generous helping of gravy. She cast him a dark look for his interference but resolutely picked up a fork and began stabbing almost violently at the meal. Snape let a single dark eyebrow quirk up before he turned back to his own meal, content with seeing her eat, even if she was annoyed.

'Miss Granger, you needn't massacre your food in order to eat it,' Poppy quipped from her other side.

Scowling even further, she allowed her movements to become less jerky and irritable. 'My appetite has not yet returned, Madam Pomfrey,' she said softly, poking at a bit of broccoli.

'I will prescribe you a potion that will help ease you back into the routine of eating regular meals slowly,' the matron said. 'You can begin that treatment tomorrow and make sure you attend every meal in the Great Hall so I can monitor your progress.'

Hermione nodded. Dinner continued on, and she knew there were still many eyes around the hall trained on the Staff table, and more specifically on her. She felt uncomfortable under the watchful eyes of students she had attended school with just seven years beforehand. Her magic was tingling at the tips of her fingers, practically trying to jump out of her system. She picked up her knife to cut up some of her chicken and snatched her hand back when she felt her magic crackle against the object.

She frowned and took a deep breath, trying to settle her nerves and the magical energy. It had been rather unstable ever since she had woken, but before then she had managed to keep it from getting out of hand. She had a feeling she was going to have to pay a visit to the library to do some research. It was strange, after so many years of being under control of her magic, that in a few days it would become as uncontrollable as it had been when she was a child.

She noticed Snape glance at her curiously, but she shook her head at him. Snape didn't need to be aware of everything.

--

A/N – I had intended for Hermione to begin the stages of becoming dark by the end of the chapter, but it seems that she will need to wait a little longer yet.