“beyond wandpoint” 061 by gingerbred
Mar. 21st, 2019 05:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
beyondwandpoint“11 11a Tuesday - Early Morning in the Infirmary”
Poppy, Hermione, Sunny, Severus (inert, but fluffy), Nurse Wanda Wainscott, Ron, Dean
Originally Published: 2018-02-28 on AO3
Chapter: 061
Pairing: Hermione Granger / Severus Snape
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Very early the next morning, Poppy once again enters the private room to find the couple still sharing the blanket and the young witch still holding her bondmate's hand. He doesn't seem to have let go either, judging by how their fingers are interwoven. The sight makes her smile. Poppy's willingness to do so increases when no one is around to see. That naturally fails to take invisible house elves into account, not entirely unreasonably, and helps explain why they sometimes have a better understanding of the likes and dislikes of some of the humans in the castle than the other humans do.
But, generally, no one gives them a second thought.
There's fortunately no trace of anything odd about Hermione's chair. She probably couldn't have taken the embarrassment. Not without a Draught, anyway. When he heard the Matron up and about, Sunny had lowered the chair slowly, and so very carefully, until Hermione was gently pulled back into it by gravity and the weight of her lower body, not that Sunny would have shied away from a Mobilicorpus had he felt it necessary.
Humans aren't always in agreement with elves about the 'necessity' of things, but that rarely gives elves pause.
Or humans, either, for that matter.
It is, however, a fairly common trait in elves that they would greatly prefer to apologise than to ask for permission, which helps explain that lack of hesitation.
Actually, that's not an uncommon trait in humans either. Admittedly in their cases it has next to nothing to do with their decisions to act despite the absence of any agreement with the elves as to those actions.
As stated, the two cultures have their differences. Frequently.
Once Hermione was safely back in the seat, Sunny had simply Transfigured the chair's arm back into its original place and shape, only having to give their clasped hands a slight magical nudge or two to make room for it. Poppy has no idea the seat had been altered between her visits, and no one other than the elf and Hermione will ever know.
Hermione, it should go without saying, will be left wondering if she undid the Transfiguration in her sleep, too.
Poppy approaches the two bondmates, runs her diagnostic checks, proactively, cautiously, on both, and decides the witch will probably be able to face the day with a single Calming Draught. Had she better anticipated what would be waiting for her, she'd have quickly rethought that decision.
Severus is much improved, Poppy's extremely pleased to see. He's doing surprisingly well, all considered, given his condition the previous night. The problem, she decides, is that his overall condition is so poor these days, and he's never given a chance to just heal, so that comparatively small amounts of damage...
She immediately revises that, the damage done to him was never 'small'. But things he previously used to be able to take easily, he no longer can faced with the sum of the burden. Those people are systematically killing him, slowly but surely.
And she's not sure she doesn't include Albus in their number.
She doesn't expect Severus to wake for several hours, yet, but she thinks he might actually be back in class tomorrow, if only because he's that stubborn, though. She's trying to think what she'd like to do for - or more precisely: to - him while he can't object. A couple of Nutritive Potions seem wise. A Restorative. More Salve for his scars. Some Strengthening Potion is a clear choice, poor lamb. Antispasmodic is sadly still necessary. She's debating the merits of a Calming Draught - if so, she would have to administer those two separately - when the younger woman stirs and wakes.
"Madam Pomfrey!" Hermione seems a little startled, and apparently feeling as though caught red-handed, she tries to snatch that hand from the Professor's, forgetting entirely who had told her to hold his in the first place. She has some difficulty working her fingers free; he seems intent on not relinquishing his hold on them. That might have made her smile were she not so busy panicking. Their involuntary struggle only draws more attention to the hand clasping, but Hermione is eventually successful, and then lies there looking an almost comical drowsy mix of glum, guilty and sheepish.
Poppy wordlessly emphasises what she thinks about the matter by retaking her seat from the previous evening on the opposite side of the bed, and once again placing Severus' hand in her own. A wave of her wand soon has the young woman's seat back to its original chair shape, and her sitting upright and trying to arrange the blanket around herself inconspicuously, so as not to call attention as well to the fact they'd been sharing it. It's a hopelessly lost cause. A pointed look at Severus' free hand shortly after, paired with a slight moue of rebuke from the Matron, soon has the still sleepy witch taking his right hand again. Poppy bites back a smile at how easily that works.
Sunny, still invisible in his corner, doesn't bother suppressing his.
"How is he?" Madam Snape seems very eager to know. Concerned. Poppy approves. Sunny agrees.
"Better than expected," she tells her, still not answering the question sufficiently. "I credit the care."
For Hermione, that was never in question. But she's more than willing to say so if it satisfies the woman. "Almost certainly. I don't know what we'd do without you," she tells her with complete conviction.
Poppy lets out a huff of amusement, appreciating the 'we' and knowing full well she still has the younger woman on tenterhooks as to his condition, and as such, commands her attention. She's not above using that to her patient's advantage. "I meant your continued presence and the physical contact." Predictably, Madam Snape pales at that and begins to snatch her hand away.
"Don't stop," the Mediwitch commands. And just like that, Hermione hesitates, and in doing so, continues as before. "I'm not being facetious. I have more than enough experience, even just with this patient alone, to be confident in saying it makes a difference.
"Don't let go. He needs people who care about his welfare." The young witch blushes, but doesn't try to remove her hand again. Poppy decides it was probably the best result she could have coaxed from her, and finally gives her the update on his prognosis.
The apprehension very visible on the young witch's face is a relief. Poppy knows full well a substantial part of the motivation is guilt; she's not delusional, and she'd listened. Madam Snape had expressed that all too clearly. But first and foremost, that concern means she's invested in his well-being, and that's a good basis, a necessary basis. For both of them, whether they know it or not.
And the news Poppy has for her goes a long way to allaying her fears.
Catching the Mediwitch glancing towards the blanket, Hermione hastens to explain, "I hoped it might help him sleep better..." Which naturally doesn't explain why they were sharing. Poppy finds herself again struggling not to smile. Sunny still doesn't have that problem, but he does need to cast another Charm so they won't hear him laugh.
As if sensing the woman's thoughts, Hermione tries expanding on her justification. "It seemed to help me, and he was sleeping uneasily, so I thought it was worth trying on him. And I Imperviused it, because of the Salve..."
Poppy assures her that isn't a problem. "The issue, if any at all, is that it reduces the efficacy of the Salve," the guilty look instantly reappears on Hermione's face, and now the Matron permits herself a soft smile to reassure her. "Put your mind at ease. By and large, it's probably safe to say the benefits from a good night's rest were more than worth it.
"It seems to have done you both some good, and I'm quite satisfied with the results." She waves her wand in a diagnostic flourish demonstratively, indicating which results she might mean, but Hermione correctly suspects those aren't the only ones she's referring to.
"I'd like for you to have the blanket, if you'd care to. I think you both have more use for it than I do." Her tone is as matter-of-fact as possible. The blanket is a rare and beneficial blend, a very valuable piece handed down from her own grandmother, on her mother's side, but Poppy is simply incapable of couching her offer in less practical terms. It's just her way. She suspects these two have had nothing but grief in response to their bond, and feels something pleasant is well overdue. She sees it as her contribution to their cause.
"Oh, Madam Pomfrey! I couldn't!" Her fingers can't help stroking the marvellously soft blanket draped around her as she says it, belying her words. They, at least, very much could.
"Nonsense. Think of it as a wedding present." That shuts Hermione up rather abruptly; Poppy had thought it might. Again she finds herself trying not to smile and thinking the young woman makes her do that rather frequently. She should be very good for Severus if she has a similar effect on him. Merlin knows, the poor man could use something to smile about.
"There now. That's settled." Poppy resumes her stroking of Severus' hand.
"Thank you. Thank you very much, Madam Pomfrey. That's incredibly kind of you," Hermione replies, looking tentatively somewhat shyly pleased, but mostly just out of her depth.
But Poppy also has a couple of ideas bouncing around her head she thinks might be beneficial, and for a Hufflepuff, she's surprisingly adept at using a situation to her advantage to further her goals if she deems them adequately benign and worthy. Almost casually, she asks, "Shall I teach you a few other things? To help?"
'Teach' is very much the magic word for Hermione, 'help' might be a close second, and she's nodding even before she has time to process the question more fully.
In the next half an hour, demonstrating on the Professor, the Matron shows her how to cast a Strengthening Charm and follows it with the Refreshing Charm, the one that makes his hair briefly 'poof' and Hermione giggle. She just can't help herself, it's too ridiculous, although some of it's simply nerves. Still. Professor Snape with a cloud of fluffed up hair... It makes him look like Ginny's Pygmy Puff. In black. And grumpy. And life sized. Well, not for a Pygmy Puff, obviously.
Poppy smiles, too, at her response. Performing the Charms as often as she does, she doesn't always register what they actually do anymore; she's too focused on the purpose, the final result. It's nice, sometimes, seeing things through someone else's eyes.
And truthfully, they're both just so relieved that Severus is out of the woods, that they're finally able to relax a little. It makes for a pleasant change of pace.
As she had over the weekend, Hermione casts the first several attempts on herself, both witches unwilling to chance worsening his condition with a miscast. She has an exceptionally good eye for wand strokes, always has, and of course a phenomenal memory, and is typically able to recreate the things she sees performed with great accuracy. She's never had some of the problems with incorrect casts many of her classmates had. And of course she studies like a woman possessed. She's swotty that way.
No, where her primary problem lies is in the strength of her casting, her conviction. Sometimes, she's just too timid. No one's perfect. It's why Harry easily outpaced her in their DADA O.W.L.s, for all her studying. Sheer willpower may not compensate for not learning spells properly, but it's crucial, and hers simply couldn't match his, at least not in that course.
Admittedly, knowing the darkest wizard of their time was after him personally proved highly motivating for Harry, at least as far as his determination was concerned. He'd have happily taken a lower mark if it meant he no longer faced that particular incentivising threat. But he's still not fond of mugging up on his course work, and if he has to hit the books, he'd rather do it with a hex.
Or a shoe, in a pinch.
Some books might actually warrant it.
Hermione is having no issues with her intent today. She very much wants to help the Professor recover as quickly as he can, and it shows.
She masters the spells quickly, first one, then the other. By the time she's finished learning the Refreshing Charm, her hair seems to have taken on a life of its own. If she thought the Professor looked funny when it was done to him... Well, her hair is a good deal longer, and now standing almost completely on end. Even long after the Charm is done. It's a good thing there are no mirrors present.
Poppy takes pity and casts a quick Charm to rectify at least some of that, but there's no denying the witch is quite a bit... bushier before they're finished.
Again the Matron offers herself as a test subject once Hermione seems to have the basics grasped. Only when she performs them satisfactorily is she permitted to apply them to the Professor. The Refreshing Charm is apparently yet another variation on the Tergeo and proves easy. Repeated applications, however, leave his hair, too, exceedingly... fluffed. She's rather hoping Madam Pomfrey can sort that before he wakes and notices; she'd proven a deft hand at hair taming, after all. As recently as minutes ago, not that Hermione had noticed.
The Strengthening Charm is unlike anything Hermione knows, and she applies it to him quite a number of times to make sure she has it down, and has helped him as it should. She's concerned it will be too weak, and with the Matron's approval, simply keeps redoing it, hoping the sum of the Charms will compensate for any lack of potency in her spell.
Hermione is about to try again when it belatedly occurs to her to ask, "Can it be applied too often?"
Poppy doesn't even bother trying to hold back her snort. Had that been an issue, it most certainly would have been an issue by now.
"It used to be that it was illegal in Quidditch to cast a spell on members of the opposing team. But there was no such rule about one's own team. No substitutions for the players are permitted, no matter how injured," her disapproval of that rule is exceedingly obvious, "and when it drags on for some time and the players begin to flag..." She shrugs.
"In 1849, there was an incident at a Quidditch bout where several hundred fans of one team applied the Strengthening Charm to a wounded member of their team more or less in unison."
"I take it that wasn't good?" Hermione asks, her wand poised before casting the Charm again.
"Well, he roughly doubled in height, octupled in weight, his broom couldn't take it and he dropped like a stone and broke his ankle. Now why any of them didn't then cast an Arresto Momentum is anyone's guess, they'd been only too quick to cast before, but perhaps he was too heavy.
"When the Healers couldn't reverse it, his size, not the ankle break, the wizard eventually had to go live with the Giants. But he did stop flagging, so it wasn't a complete failure." Hermione wonders again at the woman's optimistic take.
"Afterwards they changed that rule of course. No spells whatsoever or they forfeit the bout."
"Quidditch 'bout'?" Hermione teases, echoing her question from the previous night, her mood vastly buoyed by the improvements to the Professor's condition and the early morning spellwork. "You make it sound like a sickness."
Madam Pomfrey recognises the question immediately and smiles at the younger woman, quite sharing her sentiments. "Isn't it?" She replies, not missing her cue. "Afterwards they actually held memorial services for the man's broom." The Mediwitch sounds scandalised.
Hermione smiles in return. They're of a mind in this. She thinks about it a moment and then opting to tease the Matron some more proceeds, "I'm sorry, I have to ask... So you call a Quidditch 'match' a 'bout', but you know the exact year the rules were changed?"
"Oh, my dear! I couldn't give a flying fig about Quidditch, through the ages or just this past week. I know the date because that was medical history."
"Oh, of course." It obviously wasn't what Hermione expected, but she immediately sees the logic in that. She feels a little slow. She's not used to having to keep up with people. Or having people show an interest in anything but Quidditch, for that matter. "I can see where it would be."
"It took no less than a dozen Healers to try to sort the ankle alone. Just for a relatively straightforward break. Imagine! A break like that, on a wizard of regular size, all it should have required was a simple Episkey. No, they had to create the Episkey Maximo Trio right there on the spot before it took, and still needed multiple casters. That's hardly something one forgets."
"No, I could see where one wouldn't," she has to agree. Her attention returns to the issue at hand. "So how many spells were too many?"
"Well, after poor McCutchen was effectively exiled to the Giants, for their sins, you can imagine they weren't eager to test that precisely, but I am quite sure it's more than you're ever likely to be able to spell in a single go. You'd more likely keel over from exhaustion before causing any harm. It was an entire stadium section, after all. That does seem a rather ambitious task to match."
"So I can keep going then?" Hermione asks, waving her wand in the direction of the Professor's recumbent form.
"Have at it, Madam Snape. You have my blessings."
And she does.
As Hermione works, Madam Pomfrey, seeking to cheer her further, tells her about yesterday's Gryffindor invasion. She's almost careful to avoid names, patient confidentiality and such, but the descriptions do the job well enough, and having lived with them for the last several years and had them in the vast majority of her classes, Hermione's quickly able to guess the players in the piece.
The miscast Silencio in particular tickles her fancy. "That's something Seamus learned fifth year!" She objects with some amusement. That amusement holds until she tries to picture Ron stuffing an over-sized mouth with food. Perhaps a whole chicken? The image proves disturbing. Given her experiences the past couple of days, that choice of adjectives says something. Everything, really.
"Yes, well I gather Mr... the young man in question learnt the Silencio under more favourable conditions. Those Weasley Pastilles... They should be banned." The Mediwith shakes her head in disapproval.
"I rather thought they were..." Hermione points out.
"Oh, not just from school, from production. If they weren't produced, they couldn't be smuggled in. And there's only so much poor Argus can do to stop the influx."
Hermione's inclined to agree that she can't envision a legitimate purpose for the things. Beyond increasing Fred's and George's profit margin, that is. But then she's been reliably assured she's a bit of a pill, so she isn't sure her opinion on the matter is particularly relevant.
Fred and George would readily agree, and they actually like the witch.
A little nervously, Hermione tries to ask about something that's been weighing on her since yesterday morning. She'd probably be better off if she could let it go, but she can't, and people don't always do what's best for themselves. "I understand Draco Malfoy was in the Infirmary yesterday..."
"I'm sure I couldn't say a thing about Mr. Malfoy, one way or another..." Hermione's face instantly falls, and she worries that might be a rebuke. But Madam Pomfrey knows exactly why the younger woman wants to know about that specific Slytherin. She understands all too well and is disposed to share the information, such as she can, with her.
"But it might interest you to know your husband made an extremely lucky catch of one of his students in the vicinity of the Grand Staircase Sunday night. From a seven story drop. Truly a remarkable bit of good fortune, so providential he was on rounds. I gather his Arresto Momentum was quite artfully applied." Hermione barely manages not to point out it must have been a 'Duo'. It is a slight struggle.
Just as well, though. It was in fact a Arresto Momentum Trio that Severus had created himself years before in answer to some issues on the Quidditch pitch. With Potter, no less. Still, he hadn't actually needed it yet until Sunday. Back then, Albus occasionally seemed to respond to a threat himself. In the good old days, as they were.
"I imagine the injuries from such a fall would be extensive..." Hermione prompts instead.
"I imagine they would be. And if I had spent the weekend telling a patient's Housemates that I didn't have any Pain Relieving Potion, then I would have difficulty explaining how I suddenly had some Sunday night, when our Potions Master had been in the Infirmary all weekend as they perfectly well know."
"No!" A hand claps to her mouth as the grin spreads across Hermione's face. She wonders if she's become bloodthirsty. She suspects the grin answers that rather concisely. But the Matron understands that impulse, too.
"And I further suppose, having fallen from such a height, that there would be quite a number of broken bones, and I'd have no recourse but to offer a Stupefy as I set them. Typically, those are declined."
Hermione finds herself trying to fight back a giggle. She can't quite decide if her response is utterly wrong or right. And then she gives herself a break and decides either way she's entitled. "How many Episkeys... do you imagine it would take..."
"I imagine it could take at least eight Episkeys to set such a person to rights. And the only person I know to hold still for back to back Episkeys without Pain Relief or a Stupefy is Severus. So I suppose treatment would take quite some time."
"Eight! Now that's a thing..." It's no good pretending. Hermione knows beyond a doubt she's become bloodthirsty. And she's apparently parched to go by her thirstiness. Oh, well. There's probably nothing to be done for it. With no other choice apparent, she drinks it in.
"And recovering from that could take the better part of a day," Poppy finishes the story.
"I suppose it would. Crikey.
"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey. I appreciate it. Greatly." Frankly, she appreciates both her handling of Malfoy, and her relating of it. Hermione gathers that isn't supposed to be explicitly stated. But the Matron seems to have a good understanding of what's going on and what she might really mean, and she leaves it at that.
Hermione has to wonder at the change that's come over her. This doesn't seem like her, savouring the story of a classmate's misery. Even that classmate. She can be harsh, maybe even ruthless, she won't try denying it. But she's never just thrilled to hear of another's pain. Had the events of Friday changed her so?
But they hadn't. Not really.
Less than twenty-four hours ago she had been worried about, almost panicked by what had happened to Malfoy. She'd admonished Ron for laughing about it. Well, granted, that had occurred mostly in her mind, but some admonishment had taken place. And she'd gotten shirty and considered looking at him crossly. That last probably shouldn't count. Ah. She had called him 'Ronald'. And corrected him. Although, both of those things happen often enough as to be rendered nearly meaningless...
But this morning she's sitting there trying not to chortle at hearing how Malfoy had suffered. It helps, naturally, that she had seen with her own eyes that he was back to his usual despicable ferrety self already by dinner yesterday. That she knew for a fact it hadn't had long term consequences for him.
And what had it taken to bring about this change in her? A single evening? Is she that inconstant?
Unstable?
She hadn't even been the one maltreated.
But what she experienced through the bond... What they had done to the Professor... That may have changed her irrevocably.
What had she asked the Professor? Just last night? 'Was it necessary to be so harsh?' That seems a lifetime ago. The answer was clearly 'yes'. Even she sees it now. They're playing for vastly different stakes, and she doesn't understand the rules. She's half convinced she hadn't even been playing the same game until now.
She's believes she's, they're, in the right here, but she's still not comfortable with some of the changes she senses in herself. Seeking external confirmation that she hasn't completely lost her way, she somewhat hesitantly asks the Mediwitch, "You don't blame us for..." But she can't say what, precisely, not without acknowledging their blame. Their guilt. She's not quite ready to do that yet.
"Madam Snape, you're forgetting. I was here Friday when you both came in.
"When you returned last night, there were no other Slytherins in the Infirmary. It is accurate to say nothing happened Sunday evening that I couldn't put completely to rights in under a day. I doubt the same can be said for either of you in the wake of Friday.
"I know three things. I don't begin to understand what he has to face or how he does it." She silently Charms the Professor's hair back into a more manageable state and tucks that wayward strand behind his ear as she speaks. Sunny nods his invisible approval. "I trust him not to go too far. And I believe a good many people could understand your... response, and find it justified.
"If it helps, I count myself among them. I had a hard time bringing myself to treat the... boy when Severus brought him in."
That actually helps greatly. Hermione gives the Mediwitch a watery smile, her thanks and relief co-mingling on her face. She hadn't realised until the Matron said it how important it was to her to have her sanction.
Hermione believes herself to basically be a good person, but some of her reactions are making her doubt that. After everything else, the last thing she needs is a crisis of identity, and yet it seems unavoidable. The truth is, she's changing. Perhaps it won't all be for the better, but the simple fact that there's change doesn't mean it's all for the worse, either. What it is remains to be seen.
"Now," Madam Pomfrey rallies, "that's quite enough of that. What do you say we do something more productive?"
She Summons the Potions she had selected and shows the younger witch how to administer one.
"This is a Nutritive Potion. As he's unconscious, effectively dysphagic, unable to swallow on his own, we need to administer it for him. You need to open his mouth, like so, tilt his head back and slowly pour the potion in, you see? Massaging his throat as you go with your free hand to help him trigger his swallowing reflex. It helps, actually, if the potion is cold, in order to trigger the response. Do you follow so far?" Hermione nods and the witch continues.
"A delayed swallow response can lead to aspiration, that would be if he were to inhale the Potions instead, which makes the manual massage an incredibly important precaution." At 'aspiration' Hermione pales again and begins to wonder what she thinks she's playing at there. The Charms had seemed safe, but this...
The Matron reaches over and retrieves two familiar looking identical phials. She hands one to Hermione, "This is Calming Draught. This one's for you," Hermione takes it with a nod and quaffs it as the witch continues explaining. "The other is for him, but for later."
She hands her the rest and tells her to give it a try. "You can do this," the Mediwitch assures her with a solemn nod as she takes up the Scarcefying Salve and begins to treat his scars again.
Hermione is neither sure she can nor should. She can't imagine he'd appreciate her having done so. But it's... safer than applying the Salve, and she's excellent at rationalising when the need arises, and she tells herself she's learning a useful skill and helping the Matron in the process. Secretly she suspects teaching her is taking much longer than had Madam Pomfrey simply performed the tasks herself. But she grabs the next Potion and takes up position mirroring the Mediwitch at the Professor's other side.
"That's his Restorative Potion," Madam Pomfrey explains. Hermione administers it just as directed, very nervously massaging the Professor's throat as she goes, and is quite floored when it comes off completely free of mishap.
Hermione suspects it's dumb luck.
She's underestimating the value of having an experienced coach at her side.
One by one, Hermione takes the phials and administers the Potions. Madam Pomfrey explains what each is in turn and why they're called for, but when she gets to the last and the Matron tells her it's the Strengthening Potion, Hermione stops. She wants to know why they're giving it to him, in light of the Charm they'd just applied. As the young woman was practicing, rather frequently, in fact.
"If we have a choice, and we do here, it is preferable to give him the Potion. It's stronger. There are many results that it's far better to achieve with a Potion than a Charm, and a surprising number that can't be achieved at all with Charms."
"So why did we apply the Charm first?"
Poppy gives her a gentle smile, "So you could learn."
Hermione has a flash of panic that her learning is detrimental to the Professor's health, but Madam Pomfrey's smile is somehow soft and encouraging, and she tries to get her feelings under control and listen to the Mediwitch.
"He wasn't at risk," she assures Hermione, and she finds herself believing it completely. "I was quite serious, last night. I will never permit you to do something I believe would harm him. But it's a very good lesson for you to have learned. You haven't always got the Potion to hand, and even if you do, you can't always administer it directly or in combination with other Potions. Sometimes you need to prioritise, and then it's good to know the Charm."
Hermione wonders if it isn't lonely, sometimes, being the School Nurse. The Matron certainly seems quite willing to teach her these things if she's willing to learn. Perhaps it's the isolation of the Infirmary. Unlike the other teachers, she doesn't exactly see people all that regularly. With the possible exception, a mutinous part of her brain feels the need to add, of her bondmate...
She considers if being a teacher is that much better, as the people they spend the vast majority of their time with are hardly individuals they'd have social interactions with... And then she wonders what that means for her bonding, given where they fall on the opposing sides of that divide.
Her thoughts about the isolation of the Infirmary get an adjustment when a short time later Nurse Wainscott comes bustling in and asks Poppy if she'd like to take a break for breakfast now, as she's here to replace her.
Hermione realises with a start that it's a Tuesday morning and classes will be beginning soon. She casts a Tempus and jumps up with a shocked squeak, folds her blanket over the chair, quickly performs a Cleaning Charm on her clothes, she's still in the outfit from the previous evening, and the Dentifricium and Cleansing Charms on herself, although the last leaves her hair in even stranger disarray, and with a hurried, "I'll stop back before classes start," makes a dash from the room.
"I thought she was all better..." Wanda Wainscott asks Poppy as the young witch runs past her.
Sunny watches her go and determines to continue invisibly holding down the fort in her absence. He doesn't plan to leave his post until the Master wakes. Well, unless the Mistress calls for him. But he'd prefer to keep watch where he is. Especially given Mistress' ginger beastie running free back in quarters.
"I fear she has a ways to go yet," Poppy answers as they return to the main room, not meaning her physical condition, and then gestures back to Severus' room. "He certainly does."
Poppy decides if Wanda had to ask about Hermione's presence, she probably isn't aware of the bonding yet. That must make her about the only one left in the castle. Merlin. She'll have to fill her in after breakfast, but just to be on the safe side, as the doors fall to behind Madam Snape, she tells her colleague, "She'll probably be back later. Please don't chase her off if she returns."
Mindful of possibly listening young ears, she adds, "And she has permission to visit our patient in the private room," avoiding any mention of names. Would that Wanda Wainscott were so circumspect.
Now that Poppy gives it some thought, she realises a little foolishly, Wanda's ignorance of the bondings was a logical consequence of her having remained in the Infirmary yesterday to keep watch over the Malfoy rotter while Poppy had attended the staff meeting. Poppy just hadn't been able to bring herself to spend more time caring for him than absolutely necessary.
As the announcements hadn't been news to her, she hadn't thought to pass them on, and then they'd gotten distracted with a Transfigurations malheur, followed shortly by a major Charms disaster.
DADA, interestingly enough, hasn't been providing them with the usual number of catastrophic spell misfires this year. She isn't sure if that means Professor Taylor is that good, or the course is that useless. If the past years are anything to go by, most likely the latter. Poppy isn't altogether certain if she should welcome that or not, and then decides she can, given she's the School Nurse, and not an educator. Still...
She calls for the Infirmary house elf Polly and asks her to fetch their two remaining Gryffindors some food. With a smile firmly in place, she Leviosas the trays over to their beds and with an arc of her wand shifts their privacy screens aside so they can now see the rest of the room. "Good Morning, gentlemen. I have your breakfasts."
Ron perks visibly at the mention of something, anything edible. He really should know better. But he hadn't had any dinner last night, and the hexing had robbed him of the chance to visit the kitchens with Harry later in the evening as they'd planned... He's bloody famished. So much greater is his disappointment when 'breakfast' is revealed to be gruel. One might think he's never stayed in the Infirmary before. It doesn't speak for his learning curve. Or perhaps he's just that much of an optimist.
Either way, looking forlornly at the grey gooey mass that runs off his spoon when he gives the stuff a stir, he groans.
"Porridge," Poppy manages not to grin too broadly. She can see the Weasley boy deflating before her. He rather deserves it, though, for what he'd done to poor Mr. Thomas. Nice lad that. Doesn't go around shoving Puking Pastilles down anyone's throat, at least. Purely by coincidence, Mr. Thomas' porridge contains raisins, a spoonful of brown sugar and a small knob of butter. It's still not great, but it's preferable to his roommate's plate.
She Summons the Salve for Mr. Thomas and leaves it on his bedside table for Wanda to apply when they're done eating, and the boy turns to her and asks, "Was that Hermione?"
"I'm sure I couldn't say. Patient confidentiality," which she seems perfectly able to get around when it suits, and probably didn't really apply to the woman, given she'd been there more in a visiting capacity anyway. Ah, but then there were the Calming Draughts! There she goes then. All very proper.
"Bloody well wasn't," Ron grumbles. Ron's humour may have worsened in light of the mention of their Housemate. Or perhaps it really is just because of his breakfast, his priorities being as they are.
"Eat up, Mr. Weasley. When you've finished your breakfast, you can leave to attend class."
Initially, that hardly seems to offer any sort of encouragement whatsoever to try the stuff, never mind finish it. Then it dawns on Ron that if he finishes his... gruel, Pomfrey can call it 'porridge' all she likes, that's definitely 'gruel', if he finishes it quickly, he might even be able to make it to the Great Hall for a real breakfast before he has to go to Transfigurations. With that kind of incentive going for him, he digs in to his food with vigour. And maybe even some vim.
"Sure looked like her," Dean points out. "What I could see through the screens anyway." He waves his spoon at the screens as though Ron hadn't also just spent the night behind them and couldn't guess exactly what he meant.
"So not very much," Ron grunts around a gummy mouthful of his breakfast and considers the topic settled. "If you're not going to eat that, would you like to trade?"
"No, I'm fine, ta. All good," and Dean pulls one arm protectively around his bowl, having noticed his somehow looks... better than Ron's. Dean rather likes the Matron. Pomfrey can be nice that way for all her bluster.
As Poppy prepares to leave to see to her own breakfast, as usual and not by coincidence not the Infirmary's fare, the doors open to admit two more Slytherins. Mr. Goyle appears to be struggling to support Mr. Crabbe, who seems to be stumbling more than walking as he's escorted into their facility.
"I'm afraid we still have no Pain Relief, Mr. Crabbe," she tells the boy with something that almost resembles regret. After all, she had played one of the leads in the school's production of 'The Fountain of Fair Fortune' back when she was a student. She's not completely rubbish. "And we shan't have until your Head of House is back on his feet again and has had a chance to brew." At this rate, she's wondering if she'll ever be able to end that ruse.
If it does become a problem, she supposes she could always claim she had some sent over from St. Mungo's. It probably helps that the injured individuals she's declined to offer it to thus far - Misses Davis and Parkinson hadn't been in any discernible discomfort when they requested it, after all - all have known leanings towards You-Know-Who and his lot. Actually, that helps quite a bit. Particularly as his treatment of Severus is precisely the reason the man couldn't currently be expected to brew. No, that makes it incredibly easy to keep this ruse going. Indefinitely if need be.
"I'll see to him, Poppy," Wanda calls out, and with a word of thanks Poppy heads back for the door.
She can just hear the boys trying to detail Mr. Crabbe's severe allergy attack from the past night as the doors shut. They hadn't dared come any earlier and risk violating curfew, as their Head of House wasn't in to escort them there. Well, no, he wouldn't have been, would he now, as the man was already in the Infirmary himself, but they naturally had no way of knowing that. Mr. Crabbe is complaining rather angrily and loudly, if wheezily, about Mr. Harper's ginger cat having gotten into his bed.
Curious.
It occurs to her that Madam Snape is in possession of a ginger tom of her own. She shouldn't like to point any fingers, of course not, that wouldn't do at all, but familiars have been known to have minds, and agendas, of their own... What had she told Madam Snape? That she believes a good many people could understand her and Severus' response, and find it justified.
That's probably true of cats as well.
But she shouldn't like to leap to conclusions. With a shake of her head, and a faint smile she shouldn't care to explain, Poppy makes her way to the Great Hall to get a spot of actually appetising breakfast.
A/N:
PSA: DO NOT POUR POTIONS DOWN UNCONSCIOUS PEOPLE'S THROATS. Please leave that to the qualified Mediwitches. Who, preferably, should be wielding hypos.
And along other lines... Somebody out there is cringing about gifting a 'used' blanket.
Oh, sweetie, I don't know what to tell you.
I grew up with heirloom blankets. *shrugs* Sure, some of that's because it's family, which Poppy technically isn't. (But she's the closest (human) thing Severus has to it really in this story until Hermione steps up.) Sometimes it's sentiment. That does not explain the drawing of lots over down featherbeds or woollen throws.
Maybe it's cultural, I don't know. But I do know we weren't alone in this. And I have blankets like that that were handed down completely independently from two different lines of the family (from different countries and cultures) that I cherish. In part because they're lovingly used. Ok, sure, and because I freeze easily. ;-)
Also, quality blankets are the bomb. Just saying...