Part 2, Episodes 11-20

11. Books

Hermione nodded, staring at the battered book.

She remembered her misgivings about it. How the bloody brilliance of the annotations had made her jealous. How the lack of respect had infuriated her. How all the arguments it had caused had hurt her. Now she would have to be grateful that Harry had remembered to retrieve it. She put it on the table and turned her attention to the second book. This one was different, a scorched, dark-green journal.

A diary? She frowned, instantly suspicious. But Harry wouldn't give me a dangerous book, would he? Not after ...

'Of course he would,' she muttered. 'Some things never change."

She pulled out her wand and held it at the ready, while turning the book into the light. Faded initials. An L and an E.

'LE?' She stared at the book, her heart pounding. Was this...could this be...

She flipped the book open.

'Potions', was written on the first page in a smooth, faintly girly handwriting.

'Thoughts, Notes and Ramblings Pertaining to My Second-Favourite Subject at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'

Underneath it someone had scrawled in a boyish, crabbed script that was trying too hard to look spiky and cool, but didn't quite achieve the desired effect:

'An Effort to Scientifically & Systematically Improve on Depillatius Boring & Moronicus Dunderheadalus.'

September 2, 1970. First Potions lesson. I loved it. Like cooking, only better. Here's the recipe of what we did... Sev liked it, too. But he's sulking 'cause they won't let us experiment. He wants to know what would happen if he changed any ingredients or stirred differently. We've decided to set up a small lab in a hiding place so we can try out things.

September 5, 1970. Today we did... I think I used a bit too much of fluxweed. James Potter, that idiot, used a LOT too much fluxweed. His cauldron exploded, the lesson was cancelled and I never got to see if my potion turned out all right. Moron. And he grinned all the time as if he was a hero or something.

'At least now we know what adding too much fluxweed does to a potion'

was scrawled under that entry in narrow, boyish letters.

September 12, 1970. Sev is right. Not being allowed to experiment is BORING. Charms is more fun. But I think I've discovered a hiding place where we can put up our secret lab. It's a room in the school. But it's not always there. And if it's there, I don't think it looks always the same. Will have to investigate it tonight. I wish Slytherin House was closer to mine. And that Gail didn't snore.

At a rustling noise she looked up. Harry was standing in the door.

'Oh, Harry,' Hermione whispered. 'This... this is....'

He nodded. 'My mother's diary. I found it under a heap of Galleons in my Gringotts vault when I cleaned up in there. It covers all of her Potions lessons at Hogwarts. She was even more obsessive about note-taking than you are.'

He took a deep breath and pointed at the other book. 'Be careful, though, Hermione. He was livid 'cause I got my hands on his old book. I don't want to imagine what he'd do if he realised this one was still around.' He gulped. 'She... He... They brewed together until he... until they had that row... until my mother... until she couldn't... didn't forgive him... He really did love her, Hermione.'

oooOooo

Slughorn, Hermione decided, was even slimier than a slug. Snape's hair at its greasiest couldn't be as oily as the Potions Master's condescending friendliness. But, she did have to grant him that, he'd given her an exceedingly thorough test to assess her skills and he'd whipped up a schedule for their lessons in half an hour that left her feeling hopeful, if slightly queasy.

Hermione made it back to the Great Hall just in time for lunch. After six months of repairing and rebuilding, Hogwarts looked as if nothing had happened – apart from the epitaphs in the walls wherever someone had died in the last battle. She hesitated in the doorway. The hall was very empty without students. The enchanted sky above her was filled with drifting clouds.

'Miss Granger!'

She started. Headmistress McGonagall was waving to her. 'Why don't you sit with us? I assure you, we don't bite.'

'Are you sure, Minerva dear?' Horace Slughorn leaned back in his seat, laughing, his round belly wobbling slightly.

Hermione sighed. She'd rather have called a house-elf to her room. Instead she quickly made her way up to the teachers' table. Today only Headmistress McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey, Professor Vector and Professor Slughorn were present.

'Thank you,' she said, when McGonagall drew out a chair next to her.

'Nonsense, dear, it would be ridiculous for you to sit down there.'

A soft pop heralded the arrival of a bowl of soup. Hermione sighed gratefully. Somehow the house-elves knew she had next to no appetite. She forced herself to pick up the spoon. She knew she had to eat. Adding an eating disorder to her problems wouldn't be a good idea.

Hermione had read up on her symptoms, of course.

PTSD, depression, and quite simply...grief. She'd even considered seeing a Muggle therapist, but quickly discarded the idea. She wouldn't be able to tell him the truth and that rather defeated the idea of therapy. Intellectually, she knew that as time passed, she would feel better. She would, eventually, come to terms with her losses. With never seeing her parents again – along with their memories, they were irretrievably lost to her. With never seeing Fred again. Or Tonks. Or Lupin. Or...Ruthlessly she stopped the mantra of names that wanted to replay ad infinitum in her mind. Eventually, she would sleep better. She wouldn't feel sick at the mere thought of food.

But at the moment, such a simple act as eating her soup was almost more than she could handle.

oooOooo

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oooOooo

12. Awakening

'There will be a number of changes once school starts again,' Minerva was telling Slughorn. 'New teachers – Henrietta Hitchens will take over Muggle Studies. Bill Weasley will take over Defence Against the Dark Arts. Alberic Switch has agreed to join us in a year to take over Transfiguration. Until then, I will continue to teach. Potions...'

'Well, Minerva, I wouldn't worry. Even if Severus can't shoulder a full work-load for a while yet, I am sure I can turn Miss Granger here into a more than acceptable apprentice by September. And she has the energy of youth to help her deal with the pranks of the lower forms.'

Hermione lifted her head from her soup, trying not to stare at Headmistress McGonagall. But of course the woman noticed and gave her the tiniest wink. Hermione lowered her gaze again. If the Headmistress wanted Snape to take an apprentice, she doubted that the Potions Master would be in a position to refuse. Thinking of the still, slight form that was all that remained of the once imposing man at the moment, she realised that he likely would need an apprentice.

'Hermione, we need to talk about your N.E.W.T.s after lunch. Would you come to my office at two o'clock?'

'Of course, Headmistress. And thank you for allowing me to sit with you. Professors.' She nodded politely to the other teachers at the table.

oooOooo

'I know you would really prefer to take all subjects again, Hermione,' McGonagall said, as she held out a cup of tea to Hermione. 'But that really wouldn't be feasible.' Hermione nodded. 'I know. And I...' She sighed a little. 'I have to admit that I really wouldn't have the energy, even with private lessons.'

McGonagall looked at her sharply, eyebrows raised. 'You hardly eat,' she observed. 'And you don't look as if you're sleeping much. You should see Poppy about that.'

Again, Hermione nodded. 'I will.'

The Headmistress sighed. 'It has been only six months. It takes time to recover. But you are young, you have your whole life ahead of you. I won't give you that rubbish about 'time heals all wounds' – time doesn't. But the passage of time will make it easier to live with them.

'Now, your subjects: Potions, naturally. Also, Charms – the most difficult Potions are Charmed Potions. Herbology, of course. I suggest you take Arithmancy as your fourth subject – stirring figures, measurements and brewing times are all dependant on Arithmancy and numerology.'

'I'll miss Transfiguration,' Hermione admitted. 'But I agree. That's all I will need, and that combination is regarded as one the most challenging besides the one you need for Auror training.' She smiled faintly.

'Good.' McGonagall sounded satisfied. 'Mr Potter and Mr Weasley won't be coming back to school, I gather?'

Hermione shook her head. 'Harry has already started Auror training. He'll be taking his N.E.W.T.s as he goes along. It will be easier on him than returning to Hogwarts and getting stared at like an animal in the zoo all the time. Ron is taking evening courses in accountancy, of all things. He and George and Lee Jordan will continue to run the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. But Ginny will be back. And Neville, and Luna.'

'That's good. I am looking forward to seeing them again.'

oooOooo

A week later, Headmistress McGonagall summoned Hermione to her office, breaking up an extremely interesting Arithmancy lesson. 'He's awake,' McGonagall told her when Hermione stepped into her office, slightly out of breath. The headmistress was very pale. 'I was there when he woke this morning.'

Hermione's heart skipped a beat, she sucked in her breath and felt her knees go unaccountably weak.

'Sit down, girl. You need to go and see him, not faint in my office.'

Wordlessly, Hermione sank down on the visitor's chair in front of the desk.

'How... is he?'

'Awake. Alive.' Headmistress McGonagall had to swallow before she could continue. 'Confused. Unable to speak – for the moment. The Healers are...somewhat hopeful that he will recover some faculty of speech in time.'

'Oh, God,' Hermione whispered.

But as always, there was no answer.

oooOooo

'He is really much better,' Healer Mugwort assured Hermione. 'Of course, he still can't talk, but he knows where he is, and what happened.'

'You told him?' Hermione asked.

'Of course. He needed to know at least the bare-boned facts of what happened to be able to re-orient himself and to accept that he is still alive.'

'How... how did he react?' Hermione's voice was shaking.

'Not as badly as he might have,' the Healer said succinctly. 'Now, here we go. Don't allow him to move too much – nodding or shaking his head. You may have half an hour.'

'Professor? You have a visitor.' Muriel Mugwort put her arm around Hermione and drew her closer to the bed.

Snape was indeed awake. His bed had been Transfigured so that he was propped up in a half-lying, half-sitting position. He had been staring straight ahead at the rain outside the window. At the Healer's voice he turned his head. Gradually, in tiny, slow, feeble movements. His eyes lay deep in their sockets. Against the deathly pallor of his face they were almost black, but dull. The burning intensity that Hermione remembered from his volatile dungeon temper was gone.

'Professor Snape?' she said hesitantly. 'May I...may I stay with you a bit? Sit down, perhaps?'

His gaze focussed on her. His mouth twitched. A minute shrug of his bony shoulders seemed to indicate that he couldn't care less if she did or not. Hermione sank down on the chair, knees once more weak with nerves and relief.

Healer Mugwort smiled at them and nodded encouragingly. 'I'll be back in half an hour. Call me if you need anything.'

Mugwort gently closed the door behind her, and Hermione was alone with her former teacher.

'I'm so glad that you're awake,' Hermione whispered.

A painful snort answered her. Severus Snape did not agree with her.

oooOooo

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oooOooo

13. Long Term Effects

She winced and her cold hands cramped into white-knuckled fists. But she did not turn away, meeting that black gaze as calmly as she could.

'I'm sorry, sir.'

His dark eyes narrowed derisively, but his throat only produced a barely audible rasp. However, he did not need to say anything. She understood him well enough without hearing aloud what he would have said.

How typically Gryffindor. Acting first and thinking later. Although I would have expected better of you, Miss Granger. Or was I mistaken in the impression that you always know everything? Better than Mr Potter and Mr Weasley, and now, apparently, better than I do?

She winced again, but still she did not look away. 'I just couldn't ...'

Unable to finish her sentence, she fell silent and just sat there, looking at him.

To her surprise, he did not turn his head away or close his eyes. Instead he simply returned her gaze, with eyes that were much too dark for his pale face. His features ... empty... exhausted. Tears burned in her eyes. But she was getting better at not crying.

When Healer Mugwort opened the door again, Hermione was still sitting at Snape's bed. She looked up and tried to smile. The expression felt strange and deliberate on her face, and when the healer raised an eyebrow at her, she gave up on her feeble attempt.

She turned back to face her professor, who still hadn't moved.

'I will come back, if I may, sir.'

He rolled his eyes in answer and gave another, almost imperceptible shrug of his too thin shoulders.

Does it look as if I were able to stop such advances? Suit yourself, Miss Granger, as you will do anyway, whether I'd like it or not.

oooOooo

Once in the Healer's small office, Hermione leaned exhaustedly against the wall. She felt as drained as after an hours-long exam. 'Sit down. Sit down!' Mugwort took her by the arm and led her to her usual chair. With a flick of her wand, the Healer produced tea for two. With another, the grey-haired witch Accio'ed a small red bottle from one of her shelves. 'Just a spoonful of Pepper-Up Potion,' she declared. 'Open up, girl. Or I'll make it Invigoration Draught and that doesn't taste half as nice.'

Hermione obediently swallowed the Pepper-Up, gasping and sputtering only a little when the peppery potion burned its way down to her stomach. Her eyes watered.

'I think I could come to appreciate Headmistress McGonagall's whisky,' she wheezed. 'Similar effect, but more pleasant on the tongue.'

Mugwort snorted. 'So Minerva shared her whisky with you? She must like you.'

Hermione blinked in surprise. 'You know Headmistress McGonagall?'

The older witch afforded her a cunning grin. 'We went to school together. We always got along well, for all I was in Slytherin and she in Gryffindor.'

Another surprise. If Hermione'd had to guess, she'd probably have sorted Muriel Mugwort into Hufflepuff.

'House allegiance isn't everything, you know, girl? It shouldn't be at school, and most certainly should not matter once you're grown up and out in the world.' The Healer sniffed. 'Of course in some old habits die hard.'

Hermione flinched, as heat rose in her cheeks. She really should know better, after all that had happened. But as the Healer said: old habits sometimes had a longer life-span than they ought to.

'When will he be able to talk?' she asked, deliberately changing the topic.

Mugwort didn't answer. Instead she picked up her cup and took a deep swallow. Then she proceeded to slowly turn the mug – green ivy wrapping around a black background – in her hands. At last she sighed.

'I don't really know IF he will be able to speak again. He should be. We placed a stasis spell on his injuries while we drained the venom from his body. When his body would respond to magical healing again, we repaired all the damage his body had sustained. I don't think there's even a scar on the inside of that stiff neck of his. But see, vocal cords are a touchy part of human anatomy. There may be long term effects even though organically speaking he ought to be all right. Wizard-healers, for all our learning and our magical power, aren't much good with long-term effects on a body, anything that can't be put to rights at once.'

Hermione stared at her own cup. Steam drifted over the pale yellow of lime, balm and chamomile tea. She didn't much care for the taste, but it was soothing for her nerves without interfering with the Pepper-Up. Long-term effects. She definitely knew more about that than magical Healers. Her mother had been involved in dental surgery, repairing jaws and teeth smashed in traffic accidents and the like.

'Speech therapy,' she said at last. 'What he needs is speech therapy. If he's physically all right, he needs someone to guide his healing process and to make him exercise properly.'

Mugwort frowned at her. 'What kind of therapy is that? I've never heard of that before.'

'Oh, you wouldn't,' Hermione replied. 'It's a Muggle thing. Without magic, you have to deal with many long-term effects of illness and accidents.' She sighed. 'So there's no magical speech therapy? Too bad.'

Then an idea struck. 'Could we bring in a Muggle therapist? I happen to know a very good one. The hospital where my mother works...' She caught herself and gulped. 'Where my mother worked, she sometimes called a speech therapist in even before she started surgery. Of course I guess you'd have to Obliviate her afterwards ... so probably not ...'

'Hmmm ...' Mugwort put her mug on the table and steepled her fingers thoughtfully. 'Maybe and maybe not. It is worth a try – and I know just whom to approach about this. Severus would certainly feel much better if he was able to lash out with that wicked tongue of his again.

'What's the name?'

'Lois Petrel,' Hermione said.

oooOooo

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oooOooo

14. Special Needs

At roughly the same time, Lois Petrel stared at the calm face of an older woman with square glasses and a stern bun, who spoke with a distinct Scottish burr.

'So my daughter does not have ADHD? She's not a special needs child?'

Professor McGonagall frowned. 'I do not know what this A-D-H-D is, but of course your child has special needs. She shows all the signs of growing up to be an extremely talented witch. You can't just send her to some Muggle school and force her to forego her powers and her talents.'

'A witch,' Lois Petrel repeated.

A part of her mind was shouting at her to pick up the phone and call the police and the psychiatric hospital. But another part of her mind marvelled: Of course – that's what it is! She has power inside her that she cannot get rid of. That would make anyone behave as if they've got a million ants inside.

'Yes,' Mistress McGonagall confirmed. 'A witch. A human being just like you, but with very special talents – like me.'

Suddenly the woman appeared to fold in on herself, growing smaller and smaller in front of Lois' eyes, until a dainty tabby cat sat on the chair before the young speech therapist. But before Lois could shout or have hysterics, the cat began to grow again, until the woman was back on the chair, not a hair out of place.

'Wow,' Lois said. 'That...that is very convincing.'

Unless I wake in a nice, white cell tomorrow morning after having been locked up for a nervous breakdown. But of course she couldn't afford a nervous breakdown, she had Alina to think of, and that had always kept her going, ever since she'd found out at age sixteen that she was pregnant. Pregnant, with the father disappeared over night.

McGonagall smiled. 'Term starts on September 1. Alina will receive a letter via owl post – an owl will fly to you with a letter from the school – like uh... Muggle messenger pigeons. The Professor for Muggle Studies, Professor Hitchens, will make an appointment with you to help you get everything Alina will need at Hogwarts.

'We take Muggle-wizard relations very seriously, and we want Muggle parents involved in their children's education. So please, if you have any question at all, feel free to drop me a line via Floo network. We've hooked up your fireplace for message transport already. You just take a pinch of this powder, throw it into the fire, say my name and then you toss your letter into the fire. It won't burn, don't worry, but show up on my side of the network.

'Once your daughter is at school, you can use school owls for your mail, or you can buy one of your own.

'I know this is rather a shock and a surprise for you, but I promise you, Alina will be happy with us.'

oooOooo

Hermione wasn't really surprised when Harry showed up in the evening of the day after she had visited Snape. She was curled up with Crookshanks and Most Potente Potions on the sofa of the empty Gryffindor common room when Harry climbed through the portrait hole. 'Hullo, Hermione,' he said. 'I brought you some Butterbeer.'

Hermione was tempted to roll her eyes at him – what a transparent excuse! In her mind, she imagined what Snape would say now, Surely even a Gryffindor can do better than that.

Aloud she settled for, 'Thank you, Harry, that's really nice of you.'

She carefully placed the book on the reading table, far away from Harry's bottles.

Harry held out a bottle to her. Glass clinked against glass. Hermione drank deeply and suppressed a shudder. She didn't even like Butterbeer, really.

For a while, they sat silently in front of the fireplace. A year ago, Hermione would have prodded and nagged Harry about why he'd come. But now she simply didn't have the energy. He'd come over to talk, that was obvious. Therefore she was reasonably sure he would eventually start speaking.

'I've been to visit him,' Harry said suddenly, without looking at his friend. 'It was horrible.'

'Why?'

'He...he didn't say anything, anything at all. He just lay there, looking like a ghost and stared at me. He didn't even sneer or smirk. It was scary.' Harry shivered. 'And I...I apologised, but...but...how do you make up for six FUCKING years when I treated him like shit, and I bloody HATED him, and...

'And then he just closed his eyes.

'Gods, Hermione.' Harry slumped back. 'And he doesn't even know about the details of that trial and the sentence yet. And there's no way of telling how much he remembers, though I do suspect it's a fair bit from the way he looked at me. But he wouldn't say anything. Anything at all.'

'That's because he can't, Harry. I talked with Healer Mugwort yesterday. Physically, he is healed, but that doesn't mean there are no long-term effects, on his vocal cords for example. Not to mention the ... psychological effects of the stress he was under when he was ... attacked.'

The long words and the rather clinical explanation soothed her mind. And she could see that they had at least some effect on Harry.

'Are you still working on purifying those memories?'

Harry nodded. 'Yes, but that process should be finished soon. I hope. I don't want to look at them ever again. Though I doubt that they will ever be far from my mind, for as long as I live. Going over them again and again to filter out what my ... thoughts, feelings ... my perception has added to them ... Hermione ... I ... '

He shook his head, unable to find words to express himself.

'Oh, Harry.'

They remained on the sofa for another hour or so, drinking their Butterbeer in silence. Then Harry excused himself. Ginny and the others would already be waiting for him at Grimmauld Place.

oooOooo

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oooOooo

15. Experiments

Three days later, Hermione sat cross-legged on the sofa in the Gryffindor common room. On her lap rested a fat, leather-bound tome, the parchment brittle with age. Crookshanks, who was enjoying the emptiness of the tower, sprawled out magnificently in one of the squashy armchairs near the fireplace.

It was almost midnight, but Pliny's 'The Natural History' was not only part of the reading list provided for her by Professor Slughorn – it was actually very interesting.

There is a wild purslain, she read, of which remarkable properties are mentioned. It neutralizes the effects, it is said, of poisoned arrows, and the venom of snakes...

She closed the book. Snakes. Venom. She really didn't want to read about that. She didn't want to think about that. A glance at the clock told her that it was already midnight, but in spite of the fact that she had an early lesson at the greenhouses in the morning – herbs had to be harvested before the sun grew warm – she didn't want to go to bed. She was not nearly tired enough to be able to sleep without nightmares. Briefly she contemplated Dreamless Sleep Potion. She shook her head. It was strong, it was habit-forming, and she knew she'd taken too much of it in the last months.

Better to do something constructive, she thought. Something to advance the plan of turning herself into an apprentice Snape would appreciate.

'Crooks, I'm off to the dungeons to do some brewing. Are you coming?'

The cat turned his back, curling up into a tight ball. Hermione raised an eyebrow. Well, that was a clear answer at least.

oooOooo

Her footfalls echoed in the empty corridors and staircases. With no students in residence, the teachers didn't patrol the castle at night. Only Filch did his usual round at ten o'clock, making sure that all windows were shut and all candles extinguished. As Hermione was about to enter the narrow staircase that led from the Entrance Hall down to the dungeons, one of the new epitaphs engraved in the castle's walls caught her eye. The stones for the epitaphs had been sandblasted. They stood out bright and cream-coloured against the age-darkened walls of the castle. She knew that the castle itself had chosen the verse for each marker. This one read:

Morgaine Montgomery (1984-1998)

Neither fire nor wind, birth nor death

can erase our good deeds.

She must have been one of the students who had slipped back into Hogwarts with Colin Creevey, Hermione realised. She'd heard that name before but where? Montgomery ... oh, of course. The Montgomery sisters. Morgaine and Madeleine. Their little brother had been killed by Fenrir Greyback. Now there was only Madeleine left. Hermione tried to call up a face to go with the name, but nothing would come to mind. Morgaine had been a Fourth Year when she was killed, likely in another house, so it was not really surprising that Hermione didn't know her.

But as she stood in the twilight of the Entrance Hall, staring at the marker, she couldn't help feeling that she ought to have known her.

oooOooo

The door of the Potions Master's office was closed and Hermione hurried past it. The castle was cold in April, the dungeons positively icy. Once inside the Potions classroom, the first thing she did was light up a roaring fire and call up enough witch lights to illuminate the room brighter than she had ever seen it before. Without thinking, she went to her usual seat, a routine formed in six years of Potions lessons twice a week and a fair number of detentions served in that very same place. But when she was about to place her books on the desk, she hesitated. She wasn't a pupil any longer, for all that she was still studying for her NEWTs right now. She would never sit there again in a Potions Class, while her teacher stalked the room, glaring at her for her eagerness to get on with the discussion.Hermione inhaled deeply and deliberately moved to the next desk. That one had been Neville's. She was reasonably sure that the desk wasn't cursed, as her friend had once claimed. Only his fear of the professor had made him so nervous and clumsy in class.

'All right,' she muttered. 'Now let's try something completely new.'

Reading the Half-Blood Prince's notes along with Lily's Potions Diary had given her some ideas her fingers were itching to try out.

Maybe because she had such trouble sleeping, she had been thinking about sleeping potions and their dangers a lot lately. She had even drawn up a chart to compare the various elixirs and philtres and discovered a strange similarity: all of them relied rather heavily on magic for such natural effects as sleep and rest.

Her father had been very interested in homeopathy, and somehow the common factor among popular sleeping draughts had reminded Hermione of a discussion they had once had.

We have become so used to taking Aspirin and Tylenol that we never think about alternatives anymore. A bias. Of course there are situations when you need all those drugs, but very often a natural remedy would suffice, or even work better. It's like this – when all you use is a hammer, eventually all your problems start looking like nails ...

She sighed. She missed her father's wry humour so much.

'Magic's definitely the hammer here,' she mused, setting out Valerian roots, skullcap, California poppy, hops, passion flower, chamomile and nutmeg on the desk. 'If I treat magic only as the very last and minor ingredient, used at just the right time, in just the right way to turn this into something more than a simple tea, the result should be quite different from the regular sleeping draughts. Much milder, but still efficacious. Of course, if I'm wrong, I might be cooking up a pot of poison ...'

Hermione grinned, when an irreverent thought struck her: Snape would likely approve either way.

oooOooo

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oooOooo

16. The Next Meeting

'A word with you, please.'

Hermione had been about to leave the Great Hall, headed for another Charms lesson. Professor Flitwick had her practicing advanced wand movements, using an exercise wand of the same length and weight as her real wand, but with no magical powers. At the moment, she rather doubted that she would ever reach sufficient dexterity to scrape more than an 'Exceeds Expectations' in her NEWTs.

And Snape was so exceedingly deft and adroit with his fingers ...

She had started considering all her efforts in relation to her studies according to how she imagined he would judge them. And for some reason she found that she never measured up.

'Yes, Professor McGonagall?'

'My office please, follow me. Don't worry, it won't take long. You'll be in time for your lesson. And Professor Flitwick tells me that he is very happy with your performance so far.'

'Oh.' Hermione's cheeks flushed with a pleasant warmth. But an insistent voice at the back of her mind niggled, 'So you mean to tell me that dropping your exercise wand three times a session exceeds expectations? I don't even want to know what expectations those were to start with, in that case ...'

A murmured 'Bonnie Prince Charlie' opened the entrance to the office of the Headmistress. Moments later Hermione faced Headmistress McGonagall across her paper-strewn, claw-footed desk.

'I spent the morning at St. Mungo's,' McGonagall said. Her voice sounded strained, her lips pressed into thin lines.

Instantly, Hermione's mouth turned dry and her stomach quivered with nerves. 'How ... how is Professor Snape?'

Apparently the Headmistress noticed how anxious Hermione was and offered one of her rare, fleeting smiles. 'I found him much improved – at least as far as his physical health is concerned. And it seems that luck is with us, for the moment: the name of that ... speech therapist you gave Muriel – Lois Petrel – she's the mother of one of our new first-years.'

'Really?' exclaimed Hermione. 'I never knew that Alina is a witch!'

'You know the child?'

'Not very well, Headmistress. In the holidays I used to meet my mother at the hospital for lunch now and again, and sometimes when Mrs. Petrel had no other babysitter for Alina, Mrs. Petrel took her along to the hospital – they have childcare facilities for the employees there, though they were really designed for younger children. I remember that Alina was always very hyper.'

'Ah. Well, due to the fortunate circumstance of Alina being a witch, Muriel Mugwort was able to approach Mrs. Petrel concerning your suggestion of speech therapy.'

'Of course!' Hermione cried. 'If her daughter's a witch, she wouldn't need to be Obliviated!'

McGonagall nodded. 'Mrs. Petrel has agreed to take over Professor Snape's therapy. I believe they have met once a day for the past week.'

'Oh, that is wonderful news! Is he making any progress?'

'He is quite ... articulate by now,' McGonagall said in a dry tone that suggested whatever Snape had had to say to her, had not been pleasantries. 'However, not in the way he was before the attack. You will be able to see for yourself. You may Apparate to St. Mungo's after your session with Professor Flitwick this afternoon.'

The Headmistress cleared her throat and looked at Hermione full of sympathy. 'Mrs. Petrel will be there this afternoon as well. She has been apprised of your parents' situation. Therefore – should you wish to, you may talk openly with her.'

Hermione expelled her breath as if she'd been punched into the stomach.

She tried not to think of her parents. It had not been her fault. She couldn't have known that the Ministry had cast an undetectable protection spell over her parents. She couldn't have known that this particular protection spell would interfere with the Memory Charms she had placed on them, much the way Pepper-Up Potion reacted with Veritaserum. She couldn't have known. Therefore it was not her fault.

And at least she knew that her parents were alive. And happy. Even if they'd never remember that they'd ever had a daughter.

'Thank you,' Hermione said at last. 'I'd better go to my lesson now.'

oooOooo

'Miss Granger,' Snape murmured as she entered the room and grimaced as if he'd bitten unexpectedly on a Bitterbark biscuit. Headmistress McGonagall had been right. His voice had changed completely. No longer silky and smooth, modulated and expressive, it was halting now, hoarse and harsh. But he could speak again.

'Professor Snape – it's so good to hear your voice again!' She smiled at him, overcome with relief.

He snorted at her words, a weak, unimpressive noise, not at all like her former Potions teacher.

'May I sit down?' she asked politely.

He did not speak again, only quirked up a black eyebrow and gestured towards the chair with a feeble jerk of his left hand. As if he wanted to say, 'Since I can't remove you bodily from this room, you might as well sit down.'

Hermione sank down on the chair. On her way to his room, she had thought about things she could tell him – maybe give him news about the other Order members? Or about how Hogwarts had been repaired? That she was going to take her NEWTs soon and that she was working on a Potions project?

But now that she sat at his side, all her plans seemed to have fled from her mind. What remained were confusion, apprehension, and muddled, painful questions that she couldn't possibly ask him.

'Miss Granger,' Snape rasped, his words barely audible. 'I hear ... that I am supposed to...' His voice cracked with pain when he strained to emphasize the word, '...thank you ... yet again ... This ... time ... for devising a therapy to ... recover my faculty of speech.'

Her heart pounding, Hermione met his gaze. His eyes were bleak, his face devoid of expression.

'I'm just glad it works,' she said softly.

Snape closed his eyes. 'I am not.'

oooOooo

---

oooOooo

17. Damn and Damn Again

Looking into green eyes so much Lily's, then sinking into the liberating oblivion of death had obviously been too much to ask for.

He heard Hermione Granger gasp. For a long, agonizing moment of silence, the girl held her breath. When she finally had to exhale, the sound was caught between a sigh and sob.

Her distress, so clearly audible, made the life-debts he owed her tug uncomfortably at the core of his soul. He squeezed his eyes even tighter, and balled his hands into fists, glad that the blankets covered this helpless, overly emotional reaction.

Damn fate and all the Gods, or whoever got to decide that Granger's idea of subjecting him to Muggle speech therapy was worth yet another life-debt. And of course none of the times when he had saved her counted in his favour. Either because his objective had been to save Harry – or due to his teacher's oath. Sworn to protect all of his students, saving her life had been part of his job description.

Of course he had to admit that if he absolutely must live, it would be infinitely harder without being able to speak. Or sing. On the other hand, maybe it would be better if he were not able to speak or sing when the door of his cell in Azkaban would shut behind him in three years. Insanity would certainly come faster. Though – would insanity grant him oblivion?

He shuddered.

Damn Minerva, too, when he was already at it: for blithely pushing him into another three years of bondage. And damn him, for being shocked at her ruthlessness, at how she exploited his situation. Had she been a Slytherin, he would have expected her move. He would even have appreciated her stratagem. It was fairly cunning of her to save herself the trouble of having to replace her Potions master by first securing his services for another three years and then forcing him to take on an apprentice who would very conveniently be all trained up and ready to take over by the time he would be carted off to Azkaban.

Snape didn't seem able to shake off the sense of horror that gripped him since Minerva had informed him of everything that had transpired since that vile snake had sunk its fangs into his neck.

From Voldemort's downfall to his trial in absentia and that terrible, ridiculous condition of his probation. Though he should probably be grateful for small mercies: At least Minerva hadn't suggested that he ask one of the female Order members to sacrifice herself in order to save him from Azkaban.

A painful sneer contorted his lips.

As if he would ever consider that. He had surely ruined quite enough lives without having to add a woman's life and freedom to that balance, no matter if she acted out of a misplaced sense of obligation, or worse, out of pity.

But the worry in Minerva's eyes had almost seemed genuine when she talked about him returning to Hogwarts to recover. He snorted. Almost as if she was still fearing for his life – as if she were afraid that he would kill himself.

As if he could!

He was cursed to live, Bound by the second of three Unbreakable Vows he had made in his life.

And this second Vow would remain unlifted until he either died a natural death or was killed by another.

His memory was frayed – he was aware of that, of holes and tears and cracks, of agony and anger no longer connected with time or place or event – oh Potter, damn you, damn you, damn you, for being so much like her, so fucking damn noble. So fucking clueless.

But there was one memory he had retained.

The last time he'd seen Lily alive. She'd gone to visit a friend at St. Mungo's. He'd cornered her and dragged her into the linen cupboard. He'd fallen to his knees before her and begged her forgiveness all over again, had implored her to leave the country. He had seen in her eyes then that she knew what he'd done ... And then she had made him swear an Unbreakable Vow to her, using – how Slytherin of her – her idiotic, guileless friend as their Bonder.

She had made him swear to her that no matter what happened, he would not kill himself ...

He remembered everything. As if it was yesterday. And even after so many years the same questions tortured and haunted him. Had Lily really known what he had done? Had she forced that Vow on him because she had come to hate him? Or had she done it because she still, somehow, at least a little – well, not loved him, of course, for how could she? But cared for him? In spite of it all?

The fact remained that no matter what the reasons for her request had been, he had done what she wanted.

Since Lily was dead, he could never be released from the Vow. And now, whatever her motivations might have been, this Vow would turn into the cruellest torture he could imagine.

He was alive.

In three years' time he would be sent to Azkaban for the rest of his natural life.

And he could not kill himself unless he wanted to be forced to return as a ghost.

Of course, he mused, one thing possibly topped even that horror: Gryffindor Hermione Granger, of all people, would become his apprentice.

There was, however, one bright spot. As his apprentice she would be bound to obey any order he gave her. He smirked. Mentally he began to review the nastiest duties a Potions Master could give his apprentice. Oh, the orders he would give her ...

Abruptly he gasped as an idea struck him.

Orders. She would have to obey all of his orders. Maybe there was a way for him to be put out of his misery after all ...

Suddenly he had a lot to think about.

oooOooo

---

oooOooo

18. Accumulating Life Debts

Raised voices shattered his reverie. Two he recognised at once, Minerva McGonagall and Healer Mugwort. The other voice he couldn't place at once.

Then the door was thrown open with a bang, and Dolores Umbridge snarled, 'I know he's awake. And I insist on talking to him now. He'll be called up as a witness for several pending trials. And then there's his own ...'

'The decision of the Chalice of Neith is final,' protested Minerva McGonagall.

'That's what you think,' Umbridge hissed. 'And now I really need to talk to the ... patient.'

His eyes flared open, but in that instant two things happened nearly at the same time: Granger jumped up, putting herself between his bed and the door, and somehow she managed to find his left hand under the blankets.

Cold, thin fingers curled around his hand, holding on tightly – as if her life depended on it.

'Headmistress McGonagall!' the girl cried. 'Professor Snape...he tried to speak...but he couldn't...and then...then he fainted!'

He took his cue from her and became perfectly still, even though that meant he had to leave his hand in her grasp.

'What happened, Miss Granger?' Professor McGonagall hurried to the bed and had the gall to actually place her hand on his forehead. It was all he could do not to jerk back.

'I... I... He wanted to speak... but he couldn't... and then, I think the exertion simply got too much for him... and he... he simply fainted.'

He almost snorted. You didn't need to be a Legilimens to realise that the girl was lying. But the level of her anguish was certainly authentic, and just obvious enough that it might – maybe – fool Umbridge.

Then Healer Mugwort raised her voice, 'Out! Out! Every one of you. And Umbridge, don't you dare set foot inside my ward again unless you come with Aurors and a warrant. Out! He's had a relapse. Yes, Miss Granger, even you.'

Reluctantly the fingers that were still holding onto his hand loosened their grip.

He heard movement, muttering, the door closed, then silence. He gave it another five minutes, then he exhaled deeply and slowly opened his eyes. Muriel Mugwort sat in the chair Granger had vacated, her keen gaze resting on his face.

Snape attempted a smirk, but that hurt the muscles in his throat and he winced. Muriel flicked her wand over him in the slow wave of a diagnostic reading. Green and red runes lit up in the air above his body and faded again.

'Well,' the Healer said. 'That Umbridge is really a nasty piece of work, isn't she? You're lucky that the Granger girl reacted so quickly.'

A sharp metaphysical tug let him know just how lucky he had been. He seemed to be accumulating life-debts these days the way a stray dog acquired fleas. He closed his eyes again. You've got no idea, he wanted to say. But his voice failed him. So he just mutely shook his head.

'You need to sleep now,' Mugwort said. 'Your energy levels are very low.'

He wanted to shake his head again – hadn't he slept long enough during the last six months? But even that small movement was too much. Fatigue dragged at his mind like lead weights, and everything grew dark.

oooOooo

Hermione recognised Mrs Petrel the moment she entered the Isolation Ward. Lois was a petite woman with very pale skin, and long, dark brown hair that she wore in a stern pony tail, much like Professor McGonagall's bun. But her chocolate-coloured eyes were warm and understanding, and her whole demeanour was always very calm, quiet and unthreatening. She was the kind of person who put you at ease. Someone you could have sitting at your bedside in silence all day if you were sick, and you wouldn't feel bad about it at all.

The amazing thing about her daughter was how different from her mother Alina was. The little girl looked almost exactly like her mother (only her hair was a little darker and she promised to grow tall). But temperamentally they were complete opposites – Alina was a little dervish, always on the move, sprightly, impulsive, hyper.

Well, Hermione thought, as Lois Petrel was walking towards her, if Alina is a witch, maybe her temper is not so surprising after all. I wonder which house she'll be sorted into ...

Lois ignored her hand and simply embraced Hermione, holding her tightly for a long moment. 'I am so sorry, Hermione. I had no idea.'

Hermione drew a shuddering breath. 'Of course not. And...' She forced a shaky smile. 'My parents are well. So there's really no need ...'

Lois drew back and gazed intently at her. 'You've really grown up, Hermione.'

'Healer Mugwort is still with Professor Snape. There was ... a ... an altercation, but everything's under control now. I think it's best if we go to her office and wait there for her.'

'A cup of tea would not come amiss, I think,' Lois said. 'I assume you can do the ...' She waved her hand in the air as if she were holding a wand.

Hermione smiled. 'Yes, I can.'

'How convenient.'

Once ensconced in Muriel Mugwort's comfortable office, Lois carefully looked her over, and Hermione wondered just how much McGonagall and Mugwort had told the therapist about past events in the wizarding world. A lot, she suspected, and Lois' next words rather confirmed that.

'Hermione, you do realise that you don't always have to be strong? Even adults are allowed to be weak. And to need help. I know that we've been barely more than acquaintances in the past, but I am a link to your old life. And you do belong to my daughter's new world.

'If you ever need someone, a shoulder to cry on or a sympathetic ear ... I'll be there for you.'

Hermione drew a shivering breath. 'I ... Lois ... thank you. That is ... it ... means a lot.'

And it really did.

oooOooo

---

oooOooo

19. Pub Crawl

'Why a Muggle pub, Hermione?' Ron groused.

'Because we needed to talk without being overheard, Ronald,' Hermione replied, trying to cling to the fraying edges of her patience.

They were hanging out at a comfortably grubby pub/club affair in London. The kind of place students went for dinner and planning the rest of their evening. One of those places, Hermione imagined, that you would think back to fondly even many years later. The beer was good, though sloppily served. You could survive the fish'n'chips served there, but it was wiser to stick to the chili con carne. In compensation, the prices did not make your stomach lurch.

Not that her companions – not even Harry, not anymore – had any idea about the value of Muggle money.

Upon settling down in their booth, they'd erected first an invisible Muffliato screen around them. Then a whispered Attentionem Propulso had made sure that no one would want to pay any attention to them.

'Couldn't we have done that somewhere in Diagon Alley? Or Hogsmeade? Or...' Ron whined. They had had to schedule their meeting late because of him. The crash course in 'Business Magic' he was taking at the evening school in Skol Alley only ended at 10 pm. After just spending three hours tackling the wizarding version of accountancy, it was probably no wonder that he was grouchy.

'Ron, shut it,' Harry ordered. 'We're too well known in the wizarding world. This is much better.'

'I like it,' Luna put in. With a serene smile she surveyed her surroundings. Her large eyes shimmered in the dim light of the pub, filled with fascination at the goings-on around them

Ron and Neville looked distinctly uncomfortable.

I bet it's the clothes, Hermione mused. Ron almost never left the house without robes, and she didn't think she'd ever seen Neville in public without 'proper' clothes. It must feel to them as if they're wearing pyjamas. She grinned to herself. That would also explain why Luna was so comfortable ... although their eccentric friend had dressed herself, and now looked like very much like some kind of hippy in her skimpy, flowery dress, Luna fit in well. Even with her necklace of bottle-caps. One of the girls at the bar was actually decked out much weirder.

Ginny had looked down her nose at Harry for suggesting that he Transfigure their robes. Then she'd cast a quick Vestimenta Transformo on herself.

'So how long have you been reading Vogue?' Hermione asked her friend.

Ginny grinned. 'That outfit is actually from Cosmopolitan.'

The tight pair of white trousers showed off her slender legs, while the wide neckline of her charcoal top subtly emphasised her slight cleavage. Smooth amber-coloured leather boots hugged her calves. She even had a bag in the same style. Ginny had also applied some make-up, just enough to emphasise both hair and wide lips. And she wore her hair short now, styled into a rascally bob. Hermione sighed. No wonder that neither Neville nor Harry could keep their eyes off Ginny. Another reason for Ron's bad temper, probably.

Hrmpf.

'I suggest we get started,' Harry announced. 'How is the Plan progressing, Hermione?'

'I'll sit my NEWTs next week.' She fought a wave of panic that threatened to uncoil in her stomach.

'Don't worry, Hermione. You'll be brilliant, as usual,' Ginny encouraged her.

Hermione gave her a wry grin. 'I had better be, hadn't I? If he's ever going to take any notice of me, I have to be a bloody genius.'

Ron shook her head. 'You actually like that, don't you? A man that's a real intellectual challenge. Someone who would ordinarily never even look at you.'

'Ron!' Harry and Ginny exclaimed angrily. Neville looked as if he'd like to turn invisible. Luna nodded appreciatively.

Hermione winced, but she couldn't think of anything to say. She didn't know what to think in the first place!

'I thought you were over that, Ron,' Ginny said.

'I am,' her brother bit out. 'That was just a random observation among friends.'

For a moment silence descended around the table.

Then Harry continued, 'Right. So how is he?'

'Better,' Hermione said. 'He still has problems swallowing and almost no voice, and when he chokes he needs someone nearby who can cast Anapneo. But he is improving. Lois tells me that what he has is a paralysis of one side of his vocal cords due to the injury. The nerves were damaged and that's something magic cannot repair. They have to heal in their own time. That takes a long – many months. And he needs intensive therapy. But apart from that, he is really much better. Healer Mugwort told me that he'll be released from St. Mungo's in a week. That way he'll have a few weeks at home before summer academy starts at Hogwarts.'

'And what will he do? You said that McGonagall asked him to come back to Hogwarts,' Neville asked, 'but will he?' He took a deep swallow from his cider. 'You know, Hermione, this stuff doesn't taste not half bad.'

Luna was stacking up beer mats in front of her. She was inordinately fascinated with their different shapes and designs.

'He will,' Hermione confirmed. 'He told me so when I visited him the last time. Apparently McGonagall simply told him when he'd have to be back in time for the summer courses and informed him that I'd be ready to start my apprenticeship with him at that time.'

'And he simply agreed?' Ginny frowned.

'Apparently,' Hermione replied. 'You know, I have been wondering about that as well. Why would he so readily agree to come back? Not to mention having me, of all people, as his apprentice.'

Luna turned away from her reverie of the beer mats and gazed at her friends, her eyes wide and weird, as if she was seeing things no one else in the shabby pub could perceive.

'Hogwarts needs him,' she said simply. 'His students need him. What else would he do?'

oooOooo

---

oooOooo

20. Spinner's End and Dream's Beginning

Snape staggered into the small sitting-room and slumped down on the one piece of furniture that had escaped the wreckage. His old, threadbare sofa. Now soot-blackened, it looked even worse for wear.

He didn't look at his beloved books, torn and burned, leaves and spines scattered on the floor.

Of course his wards hadn't held. Raging Death Eaters had taken out their wrath over their defeat on his property. It was a fucking miracle that he wasn't able to stuff the remains of his house into a matchbox.

Not that he cared. It was not as if he had any good memories of this place.

Memories – his stomach heaved as his mind rolled with the newly restored memories. Bile rose from his stomach. He mustn't give in to that impulse. He would choke.

It would be so easy to give in, to allow himself to suffocate and die. He gagged.

No. Not that way. If there was one thing he wanted less than for his miserable existence to continue beyond the fateful door of a prison-cell in Azkaban three years hence, it was for this existence to continue ad aeternam.

If only because he really preferred black robes to the pearly silver habit of ghosts. No, if he was to escape from this hell, he would have to keep his wits together.

Control your breathing. Concentrate on your diaphragm. Measured, shallow breaths. Relax. Count the seconds. The calm voice of Healer – no, she wasn't a Healer – of Mrs Petrel echoed in his mind.

Slowly the seconds ticked by. Gradually the urge to vomit faded, leaving him spent and weak. His head pounded.

The memories had been purified completely. He had to admit that he was grateful for that. Looking at his miserable memories with the eyes of Harry bloody Potter might have killed him and brought him back as a ghost instantly. But because the memories had been cleansed that also meant they did not contain the signature of his thoughts anymore. So now they felt alien and painful in his mind. As if iron spikes had been rammed into his brain.

And oh God, oh God ... Why hadn't he simply refused those memories? After all, there was nothing even remotely good or pleasant about them. Why had he insisted on getting back what was his, when he knew that it was impossible to truly return to him what he had given away in that moment of weakness, when he knew that whatever he'd get back wouldn't really be his memories anymore, when half the wizarding world shared those memories with him now?

What a fool he was, what a fucking fool. But fortune really did favour fools, apparently.

The purification process had worked and now everything was back in place. Back out of place. Whatever.

He balled his hands into fists, fighting down the cramps that gripped his stomach again.

Potter, Bloody Potter, why couldn't you have let them sentence me to death?

And Hermione Clueless Granger, why couldn't you stop to think just once in your life?

oooOooo

Hermione Clueless Granger was finishing up a tour of Hogwarts Castle in the dungeons. 'This is the Potions classroom. I'm currently conducting some experiments in here. I hope they may convince Professor Snape that it's not the most awful thing in the universe to take me on as his apprentice.'

'Why would he think that?' Lois asked. She was walking along the shelves and staring full of fascination at the many glasses, phials and bottles, with their colourful powders, glittering liquids and strange shapes.

'Well, he didn't much care for my attitude when I was his student.'

'Why? I can't imagine you being anything but studious and brilliant.' Lois stepped next to Hermione, looking intrigued at the cauldrons on the table in front of her.

Hermione sighed. 'I didn't understand that for a long time. But I guess I was just too ... eager ... I kept disrupting the pace he'd set for his lessons. And he...he is someone who would very much prefer to be in complete control of everything.'

'Being magic affords you a much greater control of things, I'd imagine,' Lois suggested.

Hermione grimaced. 'Not necessarily. It's ...more something personal, I think. Anyway, here's what I'm working on at the moment – basically it's Muggle homeopathy with a little "extra". I'm trying to use magic very sparingly to make the potions easier on the system. Before hanging around at St. Mungo's so much I really had no idea of how bad magical side effects can be ...'

'That makes a lot of sense, Hermione. How are your experiments coming along?'

Hermione sighed and crease appeared between her eyebrows. 'Uh ... I'm not sure. I feel so fucking clueless all the time. I'm just not used to experimenting. Do you know that I always dreamed of that when I was younger? Experimenting. Doing something new and creative.

'But now ... it's hard for me to think beyond my textbooks. You know, during the last years, what with the war going on and my friends always getting into difficulties and neglecting their school work as if there'd be no life after...after...' She shook her head. 'I never had the chance to really immerse myself, to ... you know, enjoy, play with what I learned. And – following the rules, being perfect at that, getting exactly the described results – that made me feel ... safe. Secure. I was in control.'

'Now the war is over, and you can let go,' Lois said gently. 'At least a bit. Life is never completely safe. But your life and the lives of your friends are no longer in danger. It is okay to relax a bit. To relinquish control.'

'It's just not easy,' Hermione admitted. 'And trying harder all the time makes it even more difficult.'

Lois laughed, a friendly, lilting sound. 'Yes, that wouldn't work. Don't worry too much, Hermione. You've got time. Relax, and allow your dream to begin.'

oooOooo

---

---

NOTES

Banner

The banner is based on CC Attribution/NonCommerical licenced pictures by cambiodefractal and on CC Attribution pictures by "Drawings Of Light – Paul" and i.m.indraneel. The face of my Hermione belongs to Minnie Driver.

FAQ

See Part 1.

Chapter: Experiments

What Hermione reads is taken from 'The Natural History of Pliny', Vol. IV, chapter 81, 20, translation by John Bostock and H.T. Riley, London 1856.

The epitaph is a quote attributed to Buddha. The Montgomery sisters and brother are canon, though their names are not given.

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Chapter: Damn and Damn Again

Unbreakable Vows – mere death as a result for breaking the Vow has always seemed not quite persuasive to me, therefore I've added the twist that you have to return as a ghost if you break your side of the promise. You could also assume that this condition was part of the Vow, if you like that idea better.

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Chapter: Pub Crawl

'Attentionem propulso' means 'I keep attention away'. 'Vestimenta transformo' means 'I transform clothes'.

Spinner's End and Dream's Beginning

'Fortune favours the fool.' is a quote by Desiderius Erasmus.