Chapter 11: Nightmare left Behind

Author's Note: Story depicted may be unpalatable to sensitive readers for its portrayal of Hermione and Ron's relationship. Hermione may also not be likeable to readers. Some readers might consider the characters a little OOC. Some organisations and Ministry of Magic departments are made-up.

It would help readers following the story to view it as a 'cinematic' experience whereby there are shifts in perspectives, as well as shifts between flashbacks, the past, the present, dreams and reality within the space of one chapter.

Footnotes follow chapter.

Emphasises are italicised and book/newspaper titles are underlined.

From the Blood of the Gorgon

Chapter 11 – Nightmare left Behind

It was warm. Sunlight streamed in through the windows and fell upon the empty rows of seats. The light somehow seemed inclined to blind for it fell on the floor and bounced off so brightly on the white walls that it made her squint. Where was everybody? She hated the courts when they were empty. Everything seemed so white – so clinical – so silent.

There was something unnatural about the courts being silent. Silence always unnerved her because it would be accompanied the unpleasant sensation of ringing in one's ears. There was something disconcerting about silence. She never understood why or how most human beings thought of silence as a period of complete quiet? How did human beings arrive at this gross misconception? Silence was not really a state of quiet. It was not even a state of rest. Why do human beings call it 'silence' when it is almost inevitably accompanied by a very disquieting ringing sound between the ears? This was silence to her.

Silence – pure unbroken silence – always made her uneasy. It made her think all the more; and when she was in thought, her mind always came up with all the worst possible scenarios. The irony of her discomfiture with silence was that she liked being alone. While there was a lot to be said for being by herself and completing all the duties that were expected of, there would always be noise when she worked alone. When she worked, she would be able to hear the gentle scratching of her quill on paper, the clicking of her propelling pen, and the debates her brain's two halves would have with her. But the silence that accompanied perceived long periods of waiting for something to happen always put her out because with she would hear ringing sounds in her ears until she was unable to hear herself think any longer. But silence had its uses.

She found it particularly ironic that silence was sometimes the most effective means of proceeding in court. Perhaps the silence she presently faced in the empty court building was a reminder of that. She knew full well spending time waiting for someone not to answer one's question never failed to flabbergast the other party. Being silent was difficult – very difficult. People always said so much that sometimes it takes more courage to shut up and say nothing than to open one's mouth and speak. Video et taceo, she reflected wryly, readjusting the tabbed and winged collar at her throat which denoted her status as a barrister to all and sundry. Silence was a principle often neglected by most barristers precisely because it was so difficult to shut up. The younger barristers often could not shut up because they were often deeply unprepared. The older, more experienced barristers often could not shut up because they often over-prepared. It was breathtaking – the whole mad inner workings of the minds of barristers. The under-prepared ones always said too much because they wanted to cover up how much they did not know; the over-prepared ones always said too much because they wanted to cover up how much they did know.

As if specially designed to sooth her ruffled feathers, the sounds of shuffling footsteps assailed her ears and a tall, thin wizard with a long and broken nose, settled into the seat next to her. Other than smoothening his sweeping robes of Prussian blue, adorned twinkling stars, and gently stroking his long silver hair and beard, the newcomer remained silent and looked straight ahead at the white wall instead of her. He remained thus for a good long while until she could bear it no longer and reverted to her usual form as an inquisitive barrister. "What's the question? You haven't even asked a question and you are sitting here beside me."

She turned to the venerable old wizard as he laced his long fingers together. His only response was to stare at her, his blue eyes sparkling a little in silent invitation for her to go on. "The question is," she went on, looking away and removing the horsehair wig from her head. "Why am I so worried? Who am I worried for? And what is the answer? Hmm?"

Once again, her neck craned her head in the old wizard's direction, and she pursed her lips tightly. Once again, he said nothing and continued to stare blankly at her. "Well, Professor Dumbledore?" As he trained his gaze on her, she turned to her hands and fiddled with her wig. "Ha! By Merlin, listen to me – filling in the silence."

"With?" His lips finally parted with a sound.

Startled, she jerked her head to look at him. "With?" she parroted.

"With what, Hermione?" he asked, leaning forward conspiratorially.

"Words, words, words," she said, twisting her lips into an ugly smirk. "This is like Waiting for Godot. Anything to hold the terrible silence at bay. Yet silence pours in -- like water into a sinking ship."

"The good news is that words don't mean very much, and that we can very easily ignore them. I thought you already know with your fancy silk robes and horsehair on head. It is all about looking at the evidence and deciding whether we can be sure of what they tell us. Words are like belief, trust, conviction – they can be mistaken, and as I have discovered in my long life, they can be wrong. Go with the first thing your mind tells you. That often helps," pronounced Dumbledore sagely.

"Even if my mind tells me my children are all right away at school where I cannot see them?" she questioned with a sigh. "Even if my mind tells me Ron's family does not mind the fact that I divorced him when he persists in sulking about his family members telling them how I have wronged him?

"Your children are safe and well; you know that from their letters," he said gently. "Freedom from Ron's possessiveness and tantrums is something that keeps your children safe as well."

"And Severus?" Her voice barely above a whisper. "Even if my mind tells me he is doing well and that the curse is likely lifted, I cannot help but worry about him. He is an old soul trapped in a young body, what if..."

"Not worried that he'll give himself away, are you?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "He really wants to have this life, let him lead it. Live and let die, the saying goes."

"That's 'live and let live', Professor," she corrected him with an arch smile. "Live and Let Die is the name of a James Bond film – a Roger Moore one."

"Oh yes – the one with the voodoo subplot." Dumbledore nodded agreeably. "Let Severus live as he was supposed to have. He seems happy this way."

"Not quite today," Hermione noted, a frown lighting her brow. "He was much shaken. His first loss since joining Chambers; his metaphorical ulcer has been perforated so to speak. He was quaking and paling all at once."

"Did you allow him to vent?"

"Of course I did!" She waved a hand dismissively at his offer of some kind of hard sweet. "You know how he's like when he is agitated and tries to appear cool and collected? He was like that today. I worry about him. I worry about that side of him. It's a chip on his shoulder. I fear that if I chip away the chip, he'd fall apart."

Dumbledore replaced his spectacles on a higher position on his nose. "He sometimes gives the impression of anger when all he really feels is hurt. He will learn and he will manage. He has already found himself, that is half the battle won already. Don't worry so much. He isn't angry with you for beating the pants out of him, he knows you frighten the pants off nearly everyone who has been at the receiving end of your tongue in your profession. He's hurt because he thinks you did not notice that he did not react aggressively towards you and your client – what is the phrase you like to use – cutthroat; he did not go cutthroat."

"I will make it a point to pat him on the head then. For heaven's sake, he's not a boy," Hermione cried out.

"Ah, but he is a boy this time around. He has relived twenty-six years of his life. In this life, he isn't the same boy that he was twenty-six years ago and Tom Riddle's supporter. He's still a boy as far as I am concerned."

"What am I to do with him? He's a maelstrom that came spiralling into my life, upsetting me with nightmares of his death, upsetting me with visions of him turning back time and reliving most of his life, upsetting me with the things he knew about me – the allergies and whatnot. What am I to do with him?" She continued fiddling with her wig, tugging at its ends.

"Look at you," chuckled Dumbledore. "Worrying over him as if he were a boy. There's no need to. So he lost today, but he knows you didn't do it on purpose. He knows whatever it is that you do in court is for the best interest for your client. Think of it this way – he is an invaluable addition to your Chambers. You have flair and he has gravitas. It will be a good partnership for Chambers. You are the best; he will learn from the best. Simple as that."

"I hate your guts," Hermione said at last, resentment crossing her face as she looked Dumbledore. "You have always known about Severus's efforts in creating a counter-potion to the dark magic in Nagini's venom. You knew I do not think like Ron and Harry. You knew I would not dismiss the nightmares of Severus's death. You knew it would get to me. You knew I would not let it rest until I resolved the mystery. You wanted me to know about Severus; you knew it would get to me. There has to be a purpose or a design; there always is with you. What do you want me to do with him now? You knew I would not look at him in the same eyes as Harry or Ron if they knew he had returned. You knew I would not regard him with reproachful eyes. You arranged it, didn't you? Well, mastermind, what now? What do you want me to do with him now?"

Dumbledore rose, took her hand and bowed low over it. It was a courtly gesture – a gesture of finality – a gesture of farewell. "My guts, as you called them, hung me out high and dry -- killed me you could say. Keep an eye on him for me. Continue to treat him as he deserves to be treated, as a human being, not Severus Snape, not as a former Death Eater. I must go now, my duty is done."

Before she could answer, the sounds of human chattering assailed her ears. The doors burst open and a crush of people entered the corridors, poured into the seats and loitered around the corridor. Strangely enough, it seemed that no one had noticed her. Was she a nonentity in the place where she felt most comfortable and most at ease? She did not know. There were too many incongruous facts, and she had come to point where she would like to sit and observe for a spell instead of jostling with the crowd and making herself heard about the murmur. She did not know why no one looked up at her even though she could hear the heels of court shoes softly clicking on the parquet flooring. As she found her presence steadily disregarded, she settled for stepping out of the Inner London Crown Court for Wizards and into the sunlight.

Whatever her plans prior to her purposeful exit from the court building, Hermione found herself no longer in the Newington area under the glare and the heat from the sun. When her eyes flickered open briefly, she saw that it was almost dark and the sky was an array of warm colours – rich yellows, bold reds and smooth oranges. "How odd," she mused, closing her eyes briefly, "The sky had never looked so peaceful and inviting before." She struggled to raise herself to a sitting position, but found herself much too comfortable to want to move. Even stranger, was the fact that her head was slightly raised on something soft.

"Hush," a silky voice murmured, as light fingers swept the hair back from her forehead. "Do not exert yourself. You fell asleep, rest a bit. We have had a long day."

"And you? You paled when the jury failed to look at the client," she said tiredly.

He snorted as though their verdict disgusted him. "I always hate it when they fuck over the client. You are right, you know, the jury never looks the chap who they want to fuck over in the eyes. I don't approve of such cowardice – you know how I am."

"I know what you are. I know who you are. Still, I'm proud of you. It was brave, clever and right. You didn't go cutthroat, or incite a spectacularly noisy loss," she quietly pointed out.

"The things I learnt from my beautiful and supremely wise pupil-mistress, and the things I get from going against my beautiful and supremely wise former pupil-mistress, Hermione Granger, KC," came his laughing reply.

"If that's going to be your reaction, remind me never to lead you in a good murder case. Joke aside, you were whiter than white linen soaked in washing blue. Are you really all right? Or are you shortly going to tell me the curse has reasserted itself?" she enquired, covering a yawn with her hand.

"It has nearly been a year and still no sign of the naja naja's bite mark reappearing, and there hasn't been a need to consume either elixir. It appears that the potion of Hsi Wang Mu is effective," the man with the silky purr answered thoughtfully while tracing lips with an index finger.

"I worry, you know," she said simply. Unable to bear it any longer, she finally opened her eyes and succumbed to the desire to reach out to touch his cheek. As if sensing her attack, the gentleman lightly seized her hand as it was about to prod a part of his visage and held it reverently. Thwarted in her plan, the lady willed herself to get up and regain her previous leverage with her companion, but found herself unable to manoeuvre herself effectively from her current position. Until that moment, she had no idea that the state of lying with her head on a fellow's lap while simultaneously possessing the good fortune to have her dominant hand seized by the owner of the lap was as good as being pinned down. However, she did not mind. There was a comforting aura radiating from him as they remained in silent thought.

"You are in no condition to worry about me, not when I have prevented you from rising and assuming a more dignified position," he cautioned placidly, his calm voice and his eyes glittering.

"That is easily remedied," she answered, struggling out of his grip and prop herself up into a sitting position. As soon as she had done so, she knew that he had allowed her to wiggle free. It was a sign, she felt, for her to cease all talk of the curse of the spectacled cobra's dark prima materia. She rolled her eyes at his diversionary tactics – it would take more than that to discourage her. "I did not ask you out of idle inclination. We never did establish whether the ancient Chinese counter-potion would work. I only have your word that you have not suffered any relapse."

"Believe me, if there were a relapse, my adoptive mother would have smuggled me back to Bavaria, and challenged you to a duel to the death for further poisoning me. Not even the grateful independent wizarding state of Tajikistan would be able to save you from her," he chuckled in spite of his fatigue. He paused and the corner of his eyes crinkled lightly at a thought that crossed his mind. Whatever it was, it gave rise to a thin smile playing at the ends of his lips "Perhaps I should tell her. It would be an interesting sight to bear witness to."

"You're incorrigible" she protested, liberally showering his arm with smacks.

"I know. It is one of my qualities." His lips curled into a lopsided smirk.

"I noticed you deliberately omitted to say whether it was one of your better or worse traits," her voice rang out teasingly. After a slight pause, she continued with a certain resignation in her voice as she shaded her eyes from the setting sun. "There is nothing to worry about, is there?"

"For me? No. I am already fortunate to be part of Chiswell Square Chambers, and living a quiet life," he said quietly whilst staring out at the green from their perch on the wrought-iron bench. "Unless you are worried for yourself? Well... Your divorce was finalised three months ago, and your children are coping well. It is time, perhaps to live a little for yourself. You lived for your friends and their cause in your youth; you lived for your dreams when you married, and when you made law your profession; you even lived for your children by initially turning a blind eye to your ex-husband's infidelity. You have yet to live for yourself."

"Spare me the lecture," she murmured as the sounds of running footsteps came upon them from behind.

"Miss Granger, Miss Granger!" the deceptively bubbly voice of her senior clerk, rang out across the green. She turned around to see the doors of Chambers still open. The solicitor from Strauss and Leibniz, Charles Warrington stood half in the shadows with one hand at the open door, talking to one of the junior clerks. No doubt, Summerby had run dashed out to her immediately upon receiving the brief from Warrington. That was highly possible given that he had a clear and mainly unobstructed view of the green from his desk. No doubt, Warrington or perhaps one of his equally shady clients had specifically asked for her again. "A ripe, jolly-good attempted murder, Malfoy versus Goyle, the royal families of British wizarding crime. We've got the Malfoys, as usual; Graftonleigh, the Goyles," he declared stoutly, handing her the file. Upon which task, he executed a polite nod at his Head of Chambers' companion.

"Same old, same old," remarked her companion. "Nothing ever changes there. Anything for me, Melvin?"

"Mr Warrington brought a copyright plagiarism case for you. It's in your pigeonhole. New wizarding invention called the 'Illusory You', allegedly stolen from the Skiving Dummy spell of Messrs George and Frederick Weasley. Where Messrs Weasley and Weasley's spell enabled the magic user to seem as if they are in a place when they are not, the 'Illusory You' allows the user to be where they are not expected. One targeted at skiving employees, the other at bosses who want to be in two places at once to crack down on skiving employees," said Summerby as Hermione tried to catch the brief that he was waving around as part of his oracular process. "Mr George Weasley had specifically requested someone from our Chambers."

Hermione took hold of the brief, and looked levelly at her senior clerk before the other barrister could answer. "Who am I leading?" she asked with a warning smile at the rotund little man.

"You pick, Miss," Melvin Summberby answered.

"Oh Perseuss," she began in a sweet singsong voice, holding out the file to him.

"Yes?" He extended his hand to receive the file, but was unable to remove it from her grip. They exchanged an intelligibly speaking glance, and as they understood each other, uneven smirks lighted on both their lips

Still tightly grasping it, she continued, "I need a junior. Forget the 'who is leading whom' nonsense. Equal partnership?"

"Equal partnership," he replied, acknowledging her gracious offer by walking her back to Chambers arm-in-arm.

~ FINIS ~

FOOTNOTES:

During the unpleasant fracas (or 'wankage' as some have called it) over this modest piece of writing, it came to my attention that some readers felt the title was stupid and had no relation whatsoever to the plot. Permit me now to explain that I settled on From the Blood of the Gorgon" for a very simple reason. The Gorgon in the title refers to Nagini. I know she is not a 'real' Gorgon'. However, I believe her role in the books position her as a kind of symbolic Gorgon. In the traditional myth, the Pegasus sprang from her blood. The implication is clear – something as corrupted (in the literary sense of the word) as the Gorgon could potentially give birth to new life. Severus was bitten by Nagini and left for dead. This, ironically, set in motion the whole set of events leading to him reliving 26 years of his life as Perseuss von Bastiae. In effect, Perseuss did spring 'from the blood of the Gorgon'. I would have thought that a name like 'Perseuss' and with a title like From the Blood of the Gorgon", it would be very clear to the readers. However, it appears that it was not the case.

Legal references are to British Law. American readers, please bear with me. My beta also made the suggestion that readers unaccustomed to the legal jargon herein pretend you are watching "Rumpole of the Bailey" or "Sherlock Holmes".

* Please bear in mind that barristers from the same set of chambers may indeed appear on opposite sides in the same case. Please also note that Chambers does not equal law firm. In a firm, only the partners manage it and everyone works for the benefit of the firm. In Chambers, everyone pitches in to help with the rent, but each barrister essentially acts for himself/herself. This essentially means that two barristers from the same Chambers may appear on opposite sides of a case.

Chambers – for definition and explanation, c/f footnotes in Chapter 1.

Head of Chambers – for definition and explanation, c/f footnotes in Chapter 1.

'Employed' barrister – for definition and explanation, c/f footnotes in Chapter 1.

Barrister – for definition and explanation, c/f footnotes in Chapter 1.

Solicitor – for definition and explanation, c/f footnotes in Chapter 1.

'Brief' or 'Briefs' – for definition and explanation, c/f footnotes in Chapter 3.

Propelling pen – for definition and explanation, c/f footnotes in Chapter 1.

"Words, words, words" is Hamlet's reply to Polonius when the latter asked the Prince what he was reading.

When Hermione mentions 'Waiting for Godot', she is quoting from and referring to the play written by Samuel Beckett.

In the UK, in organisations and educational institutes, people often communicate using pigeonholes. Documents and messages are placed in a person's pigeonhole for them to collect; they can reply by putting a response inside the sender's pigeonhole.

Washing Blue is a household product used to improve the appearance of white fabrics. Used during laundering, it adds a trace of blue dye to the fabric. White fabrics acquire a slight colour cast after use (usually grey or yellow), because they can never be cleaned perfectly. Adding a trace of blue colour to the slightly off-white colour of these fabrics makes them appear whiter. I use washing blue instead of bleach because it is cheaper where I am presently.

Video et taceo is one of the mottos of Elizabeth I of England. It means 'I see and I remain silent'.

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Acknowledgements

I wrote this story at the back of interview notes and in between margins of newspapers in between field research in rather trying conditions without access to the Deathly Hallows book. Thus, any errors in situations or errors in dead Weasleys (i.e. whether it is Fred or George) I acknowledge as mine and humbly beg your forgiveness.

My thanks are extended to my beta who was both kind enough to make the best of a convoluted tale, and sensitive enough to ask me for clarification on the various points of the story. Beyond offering the service of her concise eye for details and many suggestions, she also made sure that my health did not suffer.

Sincere gratitude also to my prelim reader, Mr L., who is not in the Harry Potter fandom, for taking time out of his busy real life schedule to go over the handwritten drafts of the story and debate the various philosophical implications of the plot developments.

Finally, my thanks to the readers who have followed the story as well as its twists and turns for 11 chapters. I know that the shifting perspectives of dreaming and reality sometimes appeared confusing, and the depictions of Hermione may not be always palatable. I had deliberately blurred the lines between dreams and reality because dreaming vs. reality is one of the themes of the story. Any inconvenience to the reader is deeply regretted. I know that my writing style is rather heavy at times and not for everyone. That, however, does not change the fact that I appreciate the kind words and encouragement of the regular readers and reviewers alike.