“beyond wandpoint” 068 by gingerbred
Mar. 21st, 2019 07:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
beyondwandpoint“11 11h Tuesday - To Sleep”
Hermione, Severus, Sunny, Minerva, Poppy, Ron, Dean, Nurse Wanda Wainscott, Seamus, Polly the Infirmary house elf
Originally Published: 2018-04-04 on AO3
Chapter: 068
Pairing: Hermione Granger / Severus Snape
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Dean's and Nurse Wainscott's seemingly endless nattering had blessedly, finally, appeared to have almost petered to an end when Seamus came swanning in and it all resumed from the top, and Ron just can't take it any more. It's worse than an Unforgivable, he's sure. He's sat there in a mood fit to Avada, listening to the three of them chatting up a storm, and continuing his less than victorious march towards an empty bowl.
It's more of a crawl really.
This is the worst bowl of food he's ever had, and it probably doesn't help that his stomach is in knots. The stress from yesterday, no doubt, and he's feeling more than a little sorry for himself to boot. He doesn't deserve any of this.
Dean had gone so far as to call his battle with his pap 'gruelling', to Wainscott's accompanying laughter, and Ron's still weighing the pros and cons of just hexing him again. He doesn't fancy his chances with the Nurse as a witness, though, and she seems unexpectedly fast on the draw. McGonagall isn't far off, either, and Ron has the feeling Wainscott is likely to give the Professor a shout if he so much as reaches for his wand.
He frowns at his bowl again. He strongly suspects his gruel has been enriched with pearl glue, which the tacky texture seems to bear out, never mind the gumminess in his mouth, or the fact his tongue keeps adhering to the roof of his mouth about as well as if someone had applied a Sticking Charm, but he's making inroads. Slowly but surely. Those inroads cover some appreciable ground when he's suddenly spurred forward by the unmistakable sound of his mum's voice echoing from the back room.
"SEVERUS SNAPE! WHAT DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?"
Bloody. Fucking. Hell.
With a horrible sinking feeling Ron realises his mum has sent Snape a Howler.
Nurse Wainscott has her wand out and flicks another Mediward Silencing Charm in that direction with a brief, "Sorry, they lapse when things go quiet for a spell." And then happily returns to prattling on with Dean, who also shows no sign of registering that Ron's life as he knows it has probably just come to an end.
Seamus has the decency to note it's an act of some significance. Sadly, it doesn't help in the least that he laughs about the inherent stupidity of it, and then laughs some more as he pictures the poor blighter's fate, whoever it is.
Ta.
Ron's inclined to agree it won't be pretty, but fails - entirely - to see any humour in this. He has no idea how his mum could ever have thought that would be a good idea. It's completely mental. He's trying to decide if he's better off not knowing what she had to say, and leaving it to his imagination, or... Not that he has any choice in the matter. And doesn't he just love that, too.
Bloody hell.
Just how did she think the git was likely to take that? It's not like Ron isn't in the bat's class. Gin's the lucky one. The only good thing about this is that his marks this year are dependent solely on his N.E.W.T.s scores, and Snape won't have much influence on that. Well... Sure, because Ron is such a natural Potions prodigy. Still, it could be worse, and Snape's not grading his exams, which should help. But it's not like the man can't have him in detention every weekend between then and now.
And probably most weeknights, come to think of it.
First he snatches up 'Mione and now this.
Fucking hell.
Ron begins to inhale the contents of his bowl, rabbit glue be damned, very eager to escape the Infirmary before anyone from the back puts in an appearance and desperately hoping against hope that Snape with his 'Marriage Related Injuries', bloodybuggeringfuckinghell, won't be out in time for class third period.
Right, because Snape's so likely to have forgotten this before double Potions on Thursday... Or any other time in the coming year. Or century. What's Hermione always banging on about? One hundred thirty some years... Yup, century sounds about right. Should be a doddle.
But maybe Ron will get lucky and meet with a timely end before then. Something humane, perhaps. Herbology is always good for a surprise. Mandrake roots come unbidden to mind. Sprout isn't the only one to make the association between them and Howlers.
He's debating if running to the back and trying a Confundus is even remotely an option... Probably not given the three people he knows to be in the room, but maybe if he borrowed Harry's cloak first... And then he's trying to recall... Oh, right, Obliviate, but it's not like they've learnt that yet... He thinks it's a safe bet 'Mione would know it, swotty thing that she is, but pausing to have her teach it to him first is probably out of the question.
Adding insult to injury, Pig, traitorous owl, flies out of the room, apparently seeking some kind of treat for his delivery. Oddly, no one in the back seems to have felt the need to reward him for the Howler. Shocking. It never occurs to Ron there could have been no food present; Hermione is exactly the sort likely to reward an owl just the same for its bother no matter the payload. Pig takes one look at Ron's bowl, and then demonstrating still more treachery, beats a hasty retreat, presumably in the direction of the owlery for a more appealing morsel.
Ron might even prefer a mouse himself, really, if he had a choice.
And then his thought processes kick back in. Given Pig was the literal bearer of the bad tidings, Ron deduces this is all Ginny's fault. Close enough. That's almost solid reasoning, if one ignores easily half the facts, that is. But no matter what she put in her letter home, it's no excuse for Molly's ill considered reaction.
He's finally almost finished his breakfast, Wainscott has twice rejected his efforts as insufficient and he's beginning to take it personally, when it occurs to him he's still in yesterday's robes. All red-blooded teenaged boy, he decides it doesn't matter. Well, not too much. Harry would disagree about those socks of his, quite vocally, but he isn't consulted in the matter.
That Ron isn't just a boy but a teenaged wizard and should be more than able to cast a Charm for that, were he less spoilt or fundamentally lazy, is an entirely different matter. Since the curriculum overhaul last century, useful household Charms are naturally also no longer taught. All the more strange given the vast majority of wizarding families don't have house elves to call their own. Without some initiative, those Charms, and so many others, will remain unlearnt.
Fortunately they remain documented for such a time when more sensible heads prevail, or for the more industrious or inquisitive students of magic, in obscure and wondrous things called 'books'.
Ron, of course, has none of his books with him, but things being as they are, he places less importance on those than fresh socks. Now if he appears in McGonagall's class without his assignment, he'll have reason to reconsider his priorities, not that that lesson is liable to have any lasting effect, but Minerva does what she can with the... raw material provided.
Ron's just weighing his options. If he goes to get his things, there's no chance of making it to the Great Hall before class, and the thought of palatable food exerts a nearly irresistibly magnetic pull. Bugger.
He blames the gruel.
He's trying to figure out if there's a way to sort this... He should have Patronused Harry and asked him to bring his things... Too late for that now. And then he wonders why Harry hadn't stopped by anyway, what with Ron being in the Infirmary overnight and all, and it never once crosses his mind that he hadn't exactly visited their other friend when she'd spent the entire weekend there, and maybe Harry's a bit annoyed with him about that.
Which is precisely when McGonagall appears and renders his deliberations immaterial.
"Mr. Weasley, a word please."
Given she's just come from the back, Ron imagines there's a short list of probable topics she's interested in pursuing, none of which he cares to discuss in the least, and with his Head of House almost least of all.
Bugger.
Still, it's preferable to the other two people back there.
Severus couldn't begin to explain his dreams if his life depended on it, which is a bit of a shame in as much as he'll be troubled by various aspects of them and probably would be less so if he had any real understanding of the reasons for them. Unfortunately, that lack of clarity won't change much any time soon, and he'd rather take poison (that's what Bezoars are for) than ask relevant questions that might clear things up, and a good deal more than just those dreams at that. Characteristically, when that eventually changes, he'll have a great many other things to worry about beyond his dreams.
For very related reasons, he'll be even less capable of explaining his condition when he wakes.
It is what it is, but primarily that's a mixed blessing.
One clear advantage would have to be that his faulty understanding of the situation keeps him from self-sabotaging some of the benefits. As they are indeed rather beneficial, if the price is only ignorance accompanied by some self doubt and a purely psychological discomfort, perhaps they're still amply worthwhile. It might even provide an, admittedly thoroughly unwanted, opportunity for growth. Merlin forfend.
Another would be that he ascribes some benefits to her presence that aren't directly related. But because he does, because he truly, if reluctantly, believes it, all the more so for his reluctance in fact, her presence will come to have those benefits. Considering he'll be subjected to her company for quite some time to come, that's a very good thing.
To some extent that's simply a manifestation of the placebo effect, but that's a gross oversimplification that completely neglects the fact that positive feelings conveyed via their bond incontrovertibly cause more of the same. It's a fairly straightforward feedback loop. The better either one of them feels, the better the other feels, whether they like it or not. Severus' response to that can be taken as a given.
It becomes a battle of who feels more, more strongly, and waking, that's definitely Hermione. No contest. He couldn't begin to compete given how much he Occludes; he's exceptionally busy trying to feel nothing at all. Some days, particularly bad days, that feels like his raison d'être. While Occluding does provide some defence against her emotional barrage, it won't be nearly enough. In the absence of his own emotions, he's left with hers; although it's perfectly sensible to find that highly annoying, it's probably still for the best.
Physiologically, brains and bodies don't care if the feelings they're experiencing are their own. Not in the least. With the proper positive input, the related hormonal responses occur, and soon the person is happier, just as surely as smiling, whether one is actually happy or not, will improve one's mood. And the bond only ups the ante because the transmitted feelings that trigger that response still continue to exist and be felt. Typically, that will annoy Severus no end, not that that will change a bloody thing, poor chap. He'll find it exceedingly irritating, but then oysters make pearls from irritants. This won't be all that different.
Conversely, negative feelings also lead to more, and when Hermione stops taking a Calming Draught at night in the days to come, she'll be more sensitive to his nightmares, becoming increasingly more anxious and far less able to ground him or pull him out of them. Both of them will assume it's gotten worse in part for not being in closer proximity. While not quite as true as they'll believe, although far from mistaken, it probably doesn't hurt for them to think so. Quite the contrary.
On the other hand, his lack of questioning means he'll never understand how he came to so viscerally associate her smell with comfort. That naturally just makes him uncomfortable. Combined with the frequency of her appearance in his dreams in her bathing costume, bloody Nora, initially it leaves him feeling like a dirty old man. Some days that matters more than others.
If he asked himself what he thought of her scent, not that he ever would, he also wouldn't dignify it with a response. Instead he'd wonder if some foul magic were behind the thought. Were he administered Veritaserum and forced, he'd eventually admit he finds it... pleasant. Instinctively, he knows that, no matter how much he'd deny it, but it's a long way from 'pleasant' to 'comforting', and he'll be at a complete loss as to the explanation for it.
He also won't come to suspect the true nature and certainly nothing of the extent of the properties of the blanket Poppy has gifted them. But to be fair, Poppy has had the blanket for ages, she's a highly qualified Mediwitch, and she never suspected just how much it could help. It's efficacy is directly dependent on the need. As she never suffered from particularly troubling dreams, she never experienced its true strength.
Had Poppy had any indication of how beneficial it could be for him, she'd have probably given it to him as a boy. Certainly years ago. And true to his nature, had he remotely suspected why she had done so, he'd have Banished it to his school trunk or a cupboard, underestimating his need and therefore rejecting its usefulness. He really is difficult to help.
All of which contributes to how a number of things are conflated. He's in excellent company, however, as Hermione won't be able to keep cause and effect straight either, and she has a good deal more information to work with.
A few things will be clear when he wakes shortly. He slept reasonably well, stunningly well considering the evening he'd had. He'll feel far better than he should after the Crucios yesterday. And the explanation for the long, curly brown hair on his pillow is Miss Granger spent the night by his side. Fortunately he won't discover exactly how closely for a while yet. He'd not be pleased just now to know that particular detail.
Poppy will further confirm that he hadn't taken any combination of Potions that will remotely begin to account for his unusually good condition. No, of course not, that was patently obvious, or he'd have been taking them regularly. He's not an idiot... Equally obviously, he'd certainly not had any Dreamless Sleep, or he wouldn't be worrying about dreams from last night at all. Also confusing the issues, Poppy won't think to mention Miss Granger had taken a double dose of Calming. And under no circumstances will she tell him how often Miss Granger practised casting spells on him this morning.
As Hermione has repeatedly noted, in everything from his wards to Disillusionments cast on her, the effect of her bondmate's magic when applied to herself is rather... pleasant. It's not that different for him, he's just more reluctant to acknowledge that fact and has had less opportunity to notice. Her magic feels every bit as good, and there had been quite a lot of it. It's actually one of the few direct physical benefits of a bond, with or without the emotional connection.
As a direct result of the things he knows and doesn't, he'll incorrectly deduce Miss Granger's presence had caused the significant reduction in his nightmares instead of the blanket. She undoubtably helped, but not nearly as much as he'll fear.
Similarly, she'll give touch more credit than it deserves. Touch helps, just as Poppy had said. There's no question. Touch that's trusted helps far more, and trust isn't something there's very much of in Severus' life. But what the bond transmits guarantees it. It's not that the bond is particularly magical in that respect, but the things it conveys frequently prove highly beneficial, and that aspect is easily overlooked.
That leads to both of them assuming the bond works magic it doesn't, and thoroughly underestimating the power of a positive attitude, sincere caring or trust. Not that that should be all too surprising in Severus' case, quite the opposite, but Hermione really should have known better. It only further illustrates how scattered her thoughts are after everything she's been through lately.
Hermione's exhausted. That's not exactly a good sign, as classes haven't even started yet, and she still has a full day before her. But the Howler and the thoughts of her parents had really taken a lot out of her. That's not to mention the terror from last night, the difficulties of the last several days or the stress of the last few months, naturally, because she seems to have steadfastly decided against even acknowledging it. So healthy. But her day's only started and already she wants nothing more than to lie down.
That's not precisely accurate.
What she really wants is to lie down right there on the bed next to him, and snuggle in close, and curl up beside him... And of course she won't, because it's wrong for so many reasons, not the least of which, but perhaps the most painful, being he doesn't actually like her and she has no desire to steal a cuddle. But Merlin does she ever want to.
It's damn tempting.
And frankly she kind of needs a hug.
And then, serendipitously, he saves her from temptation as he rolls onto his right side, pulls up his knees, and curves his body around her as she sits there drinking her juice and Holy Cricket! It's... it's kind of perfect really. Which helps explain why she doesn't move away and stays there just enjoying it for a bit. She's only human.
It's like leaning into the world's absolute best squashy chair. With his right hand still on her hip, his arm resting in her lap, he's effectively encircling her. A human life preserver. He really is. He seems to have exposed still more of her back in the process - or Sunny has, whichever - and the Professor's bare stomach is now pressed tightly against her, and he really is amazingly warm. And soft. And firm. And pretty stunningly lovely.
And he still smells wonderful...
She's embarrassingly aware that the scent she likes is almost definitely him, fairly positive now after a little more practice that that's what's left behind as the rest is peeled away as a the result of how the Cleansing Charm works. She's a little proud that she hasn't taken to sniffing him. Much.
If she could, she would wear him like a scarf. Or a top. A very snug top. Maybe more of a bodysuit...
She needs to stop thinking like that.
Now.
That way lies nothing but madness...
She's briefly - very briefly, but still - considering taking Professor McGonagall up on her offer to skip Transfigurations and staying there all morning instead. She doesn't even have to worry about Potions afterwards. As a matter of fact, she has nowhere to be until lunch.
Merlin, she could probably even eat here...
She shakes it off. She has no wish to explain to him when he wakes up, and he will soon, that she has promptly neither taken the Draught he suggested nor gone stoically to class as he advised. One morning without his influence, and she's going completely off script. Again. She doesn't want to disappoint.
Well, further.
She sighs. Still, the idea was nice. She may make use of it as a sort of sustaining daydream to distract her from the dreary realities of her day. Yes...
No.
Well, maybe...
So she sips her orange juice and nibbles on her pastie and tries to think instead more rationally about the Howler she'd just received. Well, he'd just received. If that allows her to enjoy the contact with him a little longer, so be it.
The Howler hadn't been completely horrible, not really. Of course, she can honestly say that because it never finished its message, but it's just as well she doesn't know that.
'Foolish'? That's not so bad. Once she gets past the desire to malign the Weasleys' underdeveloped active vocabularies, again, and then once more just for good measure, it occurs to her to wonder why both women had - independently - labelled her actions with the same adjective. Hmm. It's far too easy to brush it off, and potentially more sensible to ask if maybe they know something she doesn't. It is a possibility. Not usually blazingly likely, hardly probable, but they are pure-bloods raised in wizarding society, and it is a possibility. She wouldn't be doing herself any favours by denying that.
What she really needs to do is go to the library and research bonds. Belatedly. Well, she now has Potions free, doesn't she. Maybe she can make a start then, perhaps check some books out to read later. That seems like something she really should know more about.
She wonders what's keeping Sunny with her clothes and then deliberates calling him back and asking him to check on Crooks' food and water, too. She decides it isn't fair, and Crooks is her responsibility anyway. She can always stop by during Potions, after all, especially if she limits the library trip to checking out some books and saves the actual research for later. She really wouldn't mind a shower anyway.
Mercy, that shower...
Perhaps there isn't quite time for that. But she smiles, just thinking about it, and reflexively, absentmindedly begins stroking the Professor's hand, not that she notices.
But he might. Just a little. And it's doing very strange things to his dreams. All of which is welcome to remain unexplained until he's old and grey, as far as he's concerned, assuming he doesn't die first, which is far more probable. Merlin. He would prefer a Crucio to speaking to the young woman about them, and he knows precisely what he's talking about.
The beginnings of a plan of attack for the day forming in her mind, she turns her thoughts to what she's just done in dragging her Head of House to see the Professor. There's no better time to reflect on one's actions than after the fact. Naturally. There are reasons she was sorted into Gryffindor.
She had wanted to show Professor McGonagall how wrong she was about Professor Snape and what he goes through. Hermione had hoped to gain some support and understanding for him. Ironically, it occurs to her she was tired of people not properly appreciating that and him, after... what's it been? A few days, on the outside? It makes her wonder how he must feel.
The correct answer would be 'resigned', so it's just as well she's unaware of it. She's not good at accepting resignation.
Her goals had seemed honourable enough, and she thinks she was actually fairly successful in reaching Professor McGonagall. But sitting there now, she isn't sure that she should have done this. In fact, she's fairly sure he wouldn't appreciate it in the least.
But that's only part of the issue.
Still, she has a sudden vision of him telling her, 'I need you to share nothing about me with anyone', and here she goes and does this. It's followed in quick succession by an image of him drawling, 'I could see how that was unclear' in his most sarcastic manner, only this time she suspects he would 'not be amused'.
She has the decency to blush.
More importantly she realises something it conveys about the bond and her Vow. Despite a very clear statement telling her he needed her not to do precisely what she'd done, and she had believed he meant it at the time - that wasn't the issue, her Loyalty Vow hadn't kept her from it. Not at all. There hadn't been even an intimation of it in play.
There's a flash of relief that the Vow isn't too restrictive, that she's not some kind of remote controlled puppet, before she's immediately ashamed at the thought given he had submitted himself to a Geas. That's followed by guilt, one of her other defaults, not that there hadn't been more than enough of it anyway. Less than a day after the announcement of their bonding, and it's already demonstratively brought him abuse, both verbal and physical. But a little more guilt hardly makes a difference at this point, and she turns her thoughts back to the matter of her actions and what they may mean with respect to her Vow, her free hand stroking his idly as she does so.
She had set out to do something in clear violation of his instructions without even a consideration for the Vow or his request of her, and she'd had no difficulty, whatsoever, in doing so. When she contrasts it to how she had felt Sunday evening trying to tell the Headmaster about the shared dessert... And that had been beyond trivial, and this... Well, she is quite certain he wouldn't welcome it, even without the rather sweeping statement to reveal nothing at all, and yet she could. She had.
Why?
How?
Bugger.
She'll need to give this some serious thought, because she thinks she's just discovered that she's a massive threat to his security.
She glances at him and adds: beyond the obvious physical threat the bond had already proven to be, that is.
He really doesn't deserve this.
There had been a number of conspicuously... odd aspects to his dreams last night.
Given their mutual experiences of his torture yesterday, his in person and Hermione's via the bond, Hermione's thoughts were otherwise occupied, her double dose of Calming did the rest, and the erotic component to the dreams had all but disappeared. Well, except for her clothing, which was entirely his own fault; he's only human. That bathing suit, in particular, is pursuing him relentlessly. As is her... sleepwear.
That development, the change in tone, was predictable, or would have been, were either of them aware she was causing it. As it is, she doesn't know it's happening, and he won't understand why it's changed. But the less erotic nature of those dreams will be a huge relief to him, albeit a temporary one. It's unlikely to stay that way for all too long, which should probably be a consideration before establishing an emotional link when one bonds a hormonal teenager. Of course, that had been entirely Albus' fault, on all counts.
Instead, the young woman's part in his dreams had shifted yet again.
Typically for nights when he has visited the Manor, he has extremely graphic nightmares. He hates them with a passion, but they're not what he's troubled by. No, he's all too accustomed to them, not that that makes them any less brutal. Those nightmares are pretty close to the limits of what he can endure. The upside to that lately has been that he is no longer likely to wake from them on those nights as his physical condition tends not to permit it anymore. Well, he chooses to see it as an upside anyway.
That fact, as well as his attitude towards it, would simply set Poppy's teeth on edge. He puts her through a lot.
The problem is when he sleeps, he can't Occlude, and to make matters worse, his subconscious takes advantage of the opportunity to do some spring Scourgifying. Truthfully it helps keep him sane, well, sane-ish, but it feels like his mind is intent on trotting out every experienced horror - they're never imagined, the reality is always worse, for the very fact it's real and he watched, if not outright participated - time and again, until he becomes completely inured or breaks once and for all. Some days he isn't sure he can definitively rule out the latter anymore.
All of which is unpleasant, and if he didn't require sleep, he'd probably prefer to avoid it altogether. Which makes his dreams this past night more than passing strange.
There were fewer nightmares than usual. Far fewer. He actually had dreams that weren't nightmares. Whole stretches of them, in fact. And then even the nightmares... changed.
She kept appearing in that chair - he's beginning to feel like it will haunt him for the rest of his days - and he kept freeing her. That was practically normal. By now he expects it. He'd almost miss it if it stopped. That wasn't so strange anymore.
But by morning, when the dreams took an unexplained turn for the worse, which almost definitely coincided with her return to her own chair followed by the blanket's removal, there wasn't a nightmare he had in which she wasn't appearing, and soon. Almost immediately. Not eventually, but right away. The dream would begin, and there she'd be in that chair. His efforts to free her became more reliable. Decisive. That, too, wasn't so odd. A little unusual in that it wasn't wretched, but the development nevertheless seemed organic. The waking knowledge he has that he had successfully rescued her seems to make it easier to dream he was doing so.
Then she'd begun telling him he didn't deserve this. He needn't stay there and take the rest of whatever the hellscape of the moment offered.
That was extremely odd, but he'd been able to ignore it.
And then... then she took his hand and tried to lead him from the nightmare, which was frankly bizarre.
At first she wasn't successful. Of course not. That's just not how his nightmares work, and he has far too much experience with them for this kind of nonsense.
Except it didn't stop her.
She never let go.
When he refused to follow, she stayed. It had been a suspiciously Slytherin-worthy tactic, the dream she seems to have selected to attempt it for the first time. Or that should probably be: he had selected for it, all things considered. It was his dream, after all. But soon enough he had to abandon the nightmare and start the next dream because it wasn't safe for her there. An attractive young Muggle-born at the Manor? Surrounded by Death Eaters? In a tiny black bikini? No, he'd needed to leave with her.
Especially as the bathing suit was unquestionably his fault.
And then there she'd be, back in that chair, he'd save her, and she'd take his hand, reassure him he didn't deserve this, whatever the particular 'this' was, it never seemed to matter, and increasingly she began to pull, to tug, to struggle until finally he relented and followed her. And that was the really strange thing. He actually did.
It didn't stop the nightmares. Nothing stops the nightmares shy of Dreamless Sleep, or possibly a magical weave of blanket he's unaware of, but that's more accurately a 'reduction' than an outright 'stopping'. But she led him from one nightmare to the next, and they never got a chance to become particularly bad, because before it ever got to that point, before things could escalate, there she was, terribly insistent bushy haired little thing, grabbing his hand and pulling him on to the next dream. If he was lucky, in large, baggy clothing, with not a trace of lace in sight.
And he kept following. It's particularly strange because he doesn't think she has any clue where she's going, but he's growing more and more content to follow.
No one's ever insisted he didn't deserve this before.
On the contrary, the majority of people around him make it very clear, it could never be bad enough. Even he's of that opinion. Fine, Poppy disagrees, but she hardly insists, she simply disapproves of the maltreatment, and then he can't help feeling she'd say that about anyone. He doesn't understand that even if that were true, as perhaps the only person with any idea of the toll it's taken on him, it still very correctly defines his abuse as inhumane. But he's never really listened to her.
His bondmate, however, is proving a great deal harder to ignore. She's not loud. She's just ubiquitous. And incredibly stubborn. And she doesn't deserve his nightmares, and she's forcing his hand. He'll wonder later if that's the Protection Vow acting even in his sleep, which is absurd, but not as completely so as he'll decide. It has far more to do with how he feels bondmates should behave, and the fact his dreams are actually unhealthy for her.
He can't work miracles, only magic, and he can't stop those dreams overnight. But they're beginning to change. For the better.
He's really not sure he deserves the reprieve, but that doesn't mean he doesn't know how to appreciate it. He's certainly getting more rest than he usually does.
And there are other aspects.
In his dream, at least, her touch is unflinching. She doesn't find him embarrassing. Humiliating. For all the other things his subconscious seems willing to inflict upon him, it doesn't seem to have focused on that specific vulnerability yet. In his sleep, he's found a respite from that sad 'truth'. Possibly on some level because he was able to sense in the last night her touch actually had been unflinching, but almost definitely not because he has realised he's wrong about her sentiments. Not yet.
The feeling Friday as he'd carried her to the Infirmary when she'd unhesitatingly curled into him seeking safety, expressing thanks, had completely eclipsed the pain in his chest and his spasming limbs at the time.
This has more than a little of that.
And then there's her concern, as omnipresent as the witch, radiating like a balm through the bond. That's something he'll get absolutely right, identifying it correctly. He's already had a taste of it. But if he were awake, he'd find endless reasons to doubt it and negate much of its effect. He would succeed, too, he's a master at that. Asleep it just washes over him, helping to heal his Crucioed body.
He knows exactly how his nerves respond to the Cruciatus. It's very different now. It's like being dipped in Dittany, not that that would work, but this... does.
This is... comfort. And it's precious little wonder he begins to associate it with her, coming as it does from her via their bond.
If one were open-minded, which Severus isn't - certainly not about this, perhaps one could consider if Albus' inclusion of the emotional connection wasn't all bad...
And when she stands there by his side in those nightmares and sees the things he does and still can say he doesn't deserve this... That's an entirely different kind of comfort. As though she were - credibly - suggesting he isn't some kind of monster. If she sees him, truly sees him, and doesn't reject him outright...
That should tell him how much he seems to need that confirmation. Or at least want it. Because that isn't real, it's only a dream. But it had made a difference, more than he is prepared to admit, that she had witnessed his treatment of Draco yesterday and not run from him, not condemned him for it. That she had stayed by his side as they returned to quarters, spoken to him like a worthwhile human being and fretted about his safety at the Manor... Especially after what she's been through. It means a lot to him to know she isn't... frightened of him.
Currently he doesn't have words for that. Right now it's simply a feeling. Later when it invades his thoughts and he attaches words, instead of appreciating her tolerance, or wondering if a less binary world view such as hers could honestly, realistically absolve him, he'll attack her clarity of vision or her sense. He can be an idiot, but he came by it honestly. That will take time to heal.
Asleep as he is, he's merely responding to the feelings across their bond. And he is responding. It was worse when she left. Everything was worse when she left. Of course the blanket was gone, too, there was no more of her magic being performed on him, no comforting touch, only one dose of Calming in her system. And finally, in place of any of those constructive things, there had been a Howler making her perfectly miserable, and she projected that, too. But none of that was particularly obvious to his subconscious. Naturally there was also less of her scent in her absence. It wasn't too much of a leap for him to connect his increased discomfort to that.
And then she returned and he's no longer sure which of them isn't letting go anymore. He seeks the contact, the touch. Her reassurance that he isn't reprehensible, that he deserves... better. He... trusts her, when she says it, even if she is only a dream. He knows she isn't lying. There's no deception. And deep down, he'd like to believe her, and the bond makes it so he can.
If she had even a hint of it, the difference her presence makes for him, she wouldn't leave his side. Classes, Malfoy, N.E.W.T.s, the universe be damned. Sadly, she doesn't, and she takes the comfort that contact provides her for something stolen that she doesn't deserve and shouldn't have. They're more alike in that regard than they'll ever know.
Having resolved that it was apparently Miss Weasley who had owled Molly, Minerva lets Mr. Weasley off the hook. She knows that Albus had words with him and Mr. Potter, explaining the situation with Madam Snape, and she's unfortunately unaware of the argument her three lions had had, as it had taken place outside of the Great Hall; had she been aware of it, she'd have taken the boy to task. Later she'll wonder that she hadn't seen the trio together, but by then some lines will be drawn in the sand that well intentioned nudges in the right direction aren't going to fix.
"Have a house elf fetch your things," she tells Ron, and just like that Polly pops into view. "And I'll expect to see you in class. The same for you, Mr. Finnigan." Seamus is quick to agree.
With some relief, Ron tells Polly what he'll need from the Tower, thinking this just might enable him to make the Great Hall on time after all. He wouldn't dream of ordering food from the elf, though, as Polly keeps providing the noxious gruel to begin with. The last thing he needs is another bowlful.
"Mr. Thomas, will we be seeing you back in the Tower this evening or are you expected to stay here longer?" The Gryffindor Head turns her attention to the still mending boy.
"Nurse Wainscott said I'll be out later this afternoon," he assures her, and Wanda reaffirms the statement.
"Very good. I'm pleased to hear it. I was less pleased, however, to hear you'd been hexing each other. That's very disappointing. You're seventh years; I expect better from the three of you. And you, Mr. Weasley, a Prefect." She shakes her head regretfully. When they really don't look suitably chagrined at her rebuke, she continues, "But I'm certain you'll do your very best for Mr. Filch. To be on the safe side and give you time to fully recover, shall we say Saturday afternoon?" That gets her the response she was looking for, accompanied by a chorus of groans. She's satisfied.
More so, in fact, as she knows that was when they had Quidditch practice scheduled. With the match against Slytherin less than two weeks off, and the Snakes having the pitch for practice in the morning, she's effectively doomed them to a training session before breakfast. She's counting on the rest of the team making their displeasure with that felt. That's frequently a fair bit more effective than anything she does. She tries not to smile too noticeably.
Poppy joins them, all too clearly struggling to suppress her own smirk as she approaches. She finds it truly astonishing how few students seem to grasp that a proper display of contrition is likely to reduce their sentence.
"Poppy, would you mind if I used your office briefly?"
"Be my guest, Minerva. I had a question for you anyway. Shall we?"
"Gentlemen," she bobs her head at the boys as she takes her leave.
They're still sitting there wondering how they'll break crack of dawn practice, on a Saturday no less, to their teammates. Presumably, that's what Protegos are for...
Hermione finds her appetite diminished at the thought she's managed to somehow circumvent the Vow. She feels like a hazard on two legs. She pushes her tray from her, and at just that moment Sunny shimmers back into view with her things.
Suspecting he'd reached the limits of her patience, it struck him as the proper time. Better to put in an appearance now before she felt the need to summon him. He's learned not to make his actions too noticeable, which is a very Slytherin adjustment to the usual house elf creed of attracting little or no attention to their work.
Hermione can only just thank him before he disappears again.
Feeling very guilty now for any comfort she's deriving from the Professor's presence, and isn't that a way to understate her effectively misusing him as furniture, she gets up, casts the Cleansing Charms on herself again, more out of a sense of order than anything else, and begins to get dressed. She's no longer shy about changing in front of him, knowing full well, sensing that the Professor is sound asleep.
Madam Snape is just buttoning the blouse to her school uniform when Poppy enters, a little surprised to see her apparently disrobing so casually in front of Severus. Well, robing. The Matron's eyes dart unnecessarily to him to determine he's still very much asleep, but then she should know that almost best of all having given him his potions. Minerva had sadly had to validate her fears about the arrival of some thoroughly objectionable mail - too offensive for words, she can't believe the gall of some people - and Poppy wanted to check on the young woman before she left for class. The past few days have been quite the ordeal, and a little caution with her seems well advised.
"I beg your pardon, I should have knocked."
"Not at all, Matron. If it mattered, I should have closed the door," Hermione disagrees amiably. Having shared a room with a number of other people for years who are quite likely to open the door, coming and going at any given point in time, Hermione has grown accustomed to changing in semi-public areas. Manoeuvres like changing her knickers under her uniform's skirt are practically reflexes, lower inhibitions a matter of course.
"Professor McGonagall told me about the Howler... How are you feeling?"
"He had suggested I should take the Draught of Peace, but I didn't think of it earlier. I don't suppose I can take it now having taken a Calming Draught?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, Madam Snape. That's entirely my fault. You were doing so well, I'm afraid I didn't think it would be necessary. I suppose I hoped it wouldn't be. Unfortunately you can't combine them, but I can give you a second Calming Draught to increase the dosage. That will last you through the afternoon classes," Poppy Summons one as she speaks, meaning to make it as easy for her as possible. Some of the students are much too quick to take potions, and some far too slow. Madam Snape is more the latter than the former. She hands her the phial, and the Potion is quickly consumed, the matter settled.
"If you think that isn't sufficient, or if you're not feeling up to it, you may stay here for the day. I can excuse you from classes."
"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey. I appreciate it. Professor McGonagall already offered, but I'd like to give it a try. If it becomes overwhelming, I can always still take you up on it." Poppy nods.
Minerva had also confirmed Poppy's suspicions about why Madam Snape had fetched her to the Infirmary. Poppy's rather pleased about that, approving of her methods in dragging Minerva there. Merlin knows, they aren't so very different to her own. It's not something she'd have done herself, obviously. Not with Minerva. It's too unsubtle. His bondmate is one thing. Fellow staff another entirely... Severus probably would have her guts for potions if she did, but she approves of the young witch's bottle. Greatly.
"It's good that you care, you know. That he has someone who cares what happens to him," she says quietly, jerking her head towards Severus. "Because no one else seems to." Madam Snape looks half stricken at that. The Draught probably hasn't kicked in yet, or perhaps that thought really does cut rather deeply...
"And for what it's worth, I think it was a lovely gesture showing Minerva, Professor McGonagall that is, what they've put him through again, poor lamb," she tucks that wayward strand of hair behind his ear again while Hermione lowers her gaze, embarrassed at the praise. She contemplates ever seeing the Professor as a 'lamb'. A crow, absolutely. A lamb? Not so much.
She's just begun straightening her clothing, somewhat nervously, when Madam Pomfrey continues, "Would you mind terribly if I set your hair to rights? It's a little... Well, you had practised quite a lot this morning. It's a bit... wild." Hermione pinks but naturally has no objections and moments later her hair is a good deal tamer. Far from tamed, but it's all relative. "It's not as nice as it was Sunday, I'm afraid. It's a safe bet that it will turn out better if one hasn't used the Refreshing Charm quite so... aggressively on oneself first."
Hermione blushes but smiles, "Thank you. You'll have to show me that one, too, sometime." Madam Pomfrey simply smiles in return and waves her wand in a completely different formation as she voices a spell Hermione thinks she's never seen or heard before. And suddenly there, floating in the air before her, is a small scrap of paper, clearly Conjured, and on it is the Incantation and the notation for the wandstroke the Matron had just performed to arrange her hair. "How on earth did you do that?" She asks, slightly awed. The Conjuring she can see, but that writing... That is impressive.
Poppy laughs. "It's how mediwitches and healers make notes for patients, listing which potions they'll require and at what intervals before they send them off to the apothecary. Surprisingly, it turns out it's useful for short notes, too," she winks. "But I swear the healer's version has some extra twist to it that makes it all but illegible. It's crucial to their standing, apparently. Merlin help them if anyone can read their writing; then I think they're demoted."
Hermione laughs now too. "Not so different from the Muggle system then," thinking affectionately of her father's... penmanship. She turns to the chair beside the Professor's bed and takes the blanket folded there and carefully places it in her beaded bag.
Poppy's eyebrow raises in recognition of the Undetectable Extension Charm, but she says nothing. She has similar suspicions about some of Severus' robe's pockets.
"Thanks again for the wonderful present," Hermione tells her as she gathers her books. "I'll treasure it always."
"Not at all, Madam Snape. It was my pleasure. Shall we go find Minerva?"
"When do you think he'll wake?" She asks, with a nod to the Professor, grabbing the grapes from the tray to take with her.
"Before lunch," the Matron assures her. "Would you care to join us for the meal here?" Hermione practically beams in reply. With a last look at the Professor that both Sunny and Poppy would happily characterise as 'fond', she turns and follows the Matron from the room.
Professor McGonagall is in Madam Pomfrey's office, just as she promised, sitting at the Matron's desk and making some notes. Nurse Wainscott is also present, writing on the wall-spanning blackboard. When the witches enter, Minerva waves her wand, and the parchment rolls itself together and shrinks on the desktop before her, and the Transfigurations Mistress pockets it without further ado. As she puts it away, her fingers brush another piece of parchment, which reminds her of something she still needs to do. She removes it as she stands.
"All ready then?" She asks Madam Snape.
The young witch nods. "Yes, thanks for waiting."
Minerva smiles in reply, "Very well, I just need to take care of a quick errand and then we can go. Poppy, thank you for the use of your desk."
"That's quite alright, Minerva. I wasn't using it."
"I wanted to leave this for Severus..." Professor McGonagall gestures with the parchment in her hand as she begins to lead the way back towards the room Hermione had just left with long strides.
Ron's put on the clothes the Infirmary elf brought him and he's in a right mood. He isn't sure what the creatures have done with his uniform, but it's bloody uncomfortable. He pulls a bit desperately at his collar. The words he's looking for and not finding are 'over starched' and possibly 'shrunk', those gaps in his vocabulary due to his complete lack of experience with doing laundry, or much of anything else by way of housework. To make matters worse, the elf seems to have brought him a pair of too tight pants that he could swear he'd disposed of weeks ago. Maybe they'd still been at the bottom of his trunk. Probably with some highly dodgy socks from the smell. His bollocks feel like... Well, it's uncomfortable, that's what it is.
It leaves him looking a little... pinched.
Next time he'll Incendio the pants to make sure they're gone for good. For the moment, though, he'll have to make do, as he has little desire to go commando in the scratchy wool trousers of his uniform. Merlin's hairy ballsack. Well not for long with that sort of friction... But then 'Merlin's hairless ballsack' hasn't got quite the same ring.
And it's not like Ron could enlargen the pants or soften the trousers, after all... Fine, softening is tricky. But Engorgio is part of the second year curriculum. Between that and the Arresto Whatsit, one could safely presume he hasn't revised second year since O.W.L.s. If even then. Fortunately, Hermione is thoroughly unaware of his predicament, or she'd happily enlighten him. But probably not fix it.
"Ron, mate, give it up. There's no way you're going to make it to the Great Hall and back before class," Dean tries telling him, casting a Tempus for demonstrable proof and shaking his head.
"Just have the elf bring you something else to eat if you're that hungry," Seamus adds rather practically. So much easier for him to say as he hadn't had Infirmary grub this morning.
"No way. No." Ron's adamant. "One bowl of that stuff was enough. I'd rather be Crucioed than have a second."
As their combined luck would have it, Hermione is just walking past, trailing some distance behind Professor McGonagall, and at that remains standing there, staring at him like he were some sort of Flobberworm excretion. She's already plenty angry for the Howler. Hell, she was still angry from yesterday. But this... The Professor is lying in the back, the victim of Merlin knows how many Crucios, and Ronald...
The bloody nerve of him!
"Oh really, Ronald? Have a lot of experience with that, do you? Crucios?" 'Frosty' doesn't begin to describe her tone.
"No, mostly with Infirmary gruel, but I think it's enough to know what I'd prefer." He can be snippy, too.
"Then by all means, may you be so fortunate," she answers with an oh so obviously false sweetness, before flouncing off again after their Head of House.
It takes the boys a moment to work that through.
"I think she just wished you..." Seamus starts.
"Yeah. Ta. Got it. Cheers," Ron interrupts.
"What did you do to her this time?" Dean asks, because he really is the socially best adjusted of the five roommates by far.
"None of this was my fault," Ron snaps irritably, grabbing his things and storming out of there before the witches can return.
"So what's he so defensive about?" Seamus asks Dean.
"Not sure, but it's enough to make you wonder," he answers, wrinkling his brow thoughtfully. He just keeps from rubbing it, not wanting to disturb the thick layer of Salve on his face. It's an odd look, giving him a sticky, orangish sheen, but he wears it with some dignity and a complete lack of whinging that practically guarantees his lunch will also be edible. How strange that no one seems to make that connection.
Minerva floats the parchment to Severus' bedside table. It's the voucher he'd left her for a new painting and her note thanking him, saying it isn't necessary, to consider it her contribution to Madam Snape's mental welfare. Especially in light of what he went through last night, she's relieved that had been her response. She's still feeling guilty for those moments she'd considered purchasing the most expensive portrait in the store this morning. Well, no one's the wiser. She wants him to see it when he wakes, to know she's aware of his condition, his suffering, and she hopes he'll feel a little... appreciated as the result. There's a good heart beating in that woman's chest.
Naturally, it will primarily succeed in making him more uncomfortable instead, but that's hardly her fault.
Reasonably pleased with her solution, Minerva escorts his bondmate to her classroom.
"I wanted to thank you, Professor, for the changes you made to your classroom," Hermione thinks to mention as they walk through the corridors and she snacks on her grapes. She still appears reasonably relaxed, and Minerva is satisfied with her choice to accompany her to the classroom. She isn't aware of the young woman's Potions regimen, however, which has her trusting those appearances too much.
"Not at all, it was the least I could do." Honestly, she was having trouble with not seeing the young woman in that chair when she looked at the room. She had really needed to change it for her own peace of mind. But she shouldn't like to imagine, if it weighed on her that heavily, how Madam Snape would have come to terms with it. No. It needed doing.
"I'm afraid we also removed a portrait..." Hermione begins to apologise.
Minerva lets out a huff of laughter. "Severus mentioned it. In fact, he left me a gift voucher for a new one." Honestly, when she says it out loud, it sounds absurd. Accepting it would have been embarrassingly petty.
Guilt washes over Hermione instantly. Really, she may as well remain permanently guilty, at this rate. It's never gone long. "Oh no, that's my fault. He shouldn't have to pay for that... " She's at a bit of a loss as to a solution and falters instead of making a constructive suggestion, suspecting her budget doesn't allow for magical portraits.
"Not to worry, Madam Snape. It most definitely wasn't your fault, none of it. And that voucher was what I was returning to Severus just before we left. Don't worry, he won't be expected to foot the bill," she smiles kindly. "I can assure you, Albus has a whole storeroom full. Again, it's the least I could do."
"Believe me, it's greatly appreciated." As they draw nearer the room, Minerva notices the young woman's pace slowing, that she's stopped eating her fruit, and correctly guesses why.
She tries to distract her. "Any preferences for a new portrait subject?" She asks, taking Hermione completely by surprise. It does the trick for a while.
Her first response is a quick, "Just no centaurs." The speed of the answer strikes Minerva as amusing before it hits her as sad. She prefers not to pursue why, doing them both a favour.
"Well that narrows it down greatly," she drawls. "No other ideas?"
Her opinion genuinely solicited, in very typical Hermione fashion, she feels this is a weighty question. Considering the current political climate, she nibbles her lower lip a little and a bit hesitantly asks, "Are there any portraits of Muggle-borns to be had? Preferably witches..."
"That sounds like an excellent idea. I'll see what we have available."
The distraction worked, and they're right outside the room before Hermione draws to a halt. "Come, Madam Snape, it's just a little further. You've done beautifully so far." Hermione responds well to praise, at least from people she respects, and she starts moving again. Minerva shifts to the side to allow the smaller witch to open the door for herself, in her own time. She can see her breathing change. "I'm right here with you, and I guarantee you, you're safe. No one will hurt you in my presence."
It's a lovely thought, but utterly incorrect. The flaw of course lies in how people perceive hurt differently, and some things can't be stopped by even the strongest Protego. Still, she does her best, which is better than most by a long shot.
Not knowing any differently, Hermione believes the lie. Meeting her eyes, Minerva raises her hand again slowly, lifts a brow in question, and at Hermione's nod, places it reassuringly on her shoulder. "You can do this. I'm right behind you."
"Thank you, Professor, for walking me over," she says as her hand reaches for the doorknob.
"Any time. Please don't hesitate to ask." And with that Hermione throws the door open, perhaps a bit dramatically, but it gets the job done, and the room lies waiting before them.
They've managed to make it to class on time, and when they enter the room there are only two other students there, quite startled by the door slamming open so loudly. The witches pretend there was nothing at all odd about it, and the Ravenclaws soon resume their conversation. Minerva is puzzled to see the younger witch smiling now as they enter the room, tracking her gaze to... her chair, but unable to quite see the swooping crow properly at her height and standing off to the side as she now is. But that's when she spots the carvings. She stalks closer, until she reaches the front and sees her Animagus form, and then she turns to Madam Snape with a simple, "Severus?"
Hermione nods and smiles. "I think he wanted to say 'thank you'."
"It's beautiful." Examining his work with a widening smile on her face, Minerva is now even more pleased with herself for returning the gift voucher. It's just a pity that's not mutual.