beyondwandpoint

“11 08d Saturday - Rounds”

Hermione, Poppy, Albus, Harry

Originally Published: 2017-11-20 on AO3
Chapter: 017

Pairing: Hermione Granger / Severus Snape
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con

When Madam Pomfrey arrives a little while later bearing porridge, she finds the young witch seated in the chair next to Severus' bedside. Having decided Severus could use more good will in his life, she doesn't chide the young woman for her impertinence; she merely gives her the tray with her breakfast and summons a seat to join her on the other side of Severus' bed.

When she discovers no rebuke in the Matron's expression, Hermione relaxes a little and thanks her for the food. Hermione tries the porridge; it's every bit as bland as she remembers. Making appropriate noises about how terribly hot it still is, she pushes the tray to the side and suggests she'll eat it later, ardently planning to Vanish it the moment the Mediwitch's back is turned.

Poppy smiles knowingly; she's spent decades watching patients Evanesco their food. Severus himself has been doing it for roughly two decades. She was actually a little relieved when he started; it meant he wasn't quite so desperately hungry anymore. Miss Granger's Exploding Snap face may leave much to be desired, but her manners are perfectly acceptable.

The Matron pulls another phial of Calming Draught from her pocket which she hands to her patient, who again takes it with no complaint. That will doubtlessly make the conversations to come easier.

But Hermione manages to surprise her with where she takes the conversation next. She raises the empty phial and wiggles it demonstratively between her fingers, "May I keep it?"

"Certainly, if you'd like," the Mediwitch replies, although she can't imagine what for. She hadn't taken the witch for a Niffler. Very well, if her patient won't go where they must, Poppy will simply have to. "What are your immediate plans?" She asks her, almost as though speaking of the holidays.

Hermione's glad she has, because she was a little uncertain how to broach this. Somehow it strikes her as odd, although it's not, that the decision should be up to her, but she's relieved if it is.

"I had hoped to stay here a little longer." She had actually hoped to stay right there if she has her choice, but she certainly wasn't going to lead with that. She places the empty phial on her breakfast tray. When Madam Pomfrey doesn't object outright to the idea of Hermione remaining in the Infirmary, she continues, "As I'm not permitted to speak about what happened last night, and I'd prefer not lying to everyone about it, I was hoping..."

"To hide out here for a while, perhaps until the Oath expires tomorrow night?" It's hardly an amusing situation, but there's something between the embarrassment and relief on the young witch's face that strikes Poppy involuntarily as funny. When the woman nods enthusiastically, almost comically, at the suggestion, Poppy suppresses her amusement and answers, "That would be agreeable. You're welcome to stay." She can't help thinking it might give her some time to come to terms with what happened and what she wants to tell her friends.

When Miss Granger's eyes then dart to Severus, still unconscious between them, Poppy finally does chuckle and suggests, "Maybe you'd even like to help me a little around here?" Ah... If her body language can be trusted, that's a firm 'yes'.

Hermione is spared answering by a chime of the Matron's wards. Someone has entered the Infirmary. She rises to investigate, leaving her patients alone.

Once she's left, Hermione Scourgifies the empty phial, removes the miniature top from the previous evening from her pocket and unwraps the tissue. She then carefully places the blouse in the phial, stoppers it and with incredible precision, cautiousIy, very cautiously Reducios the phial around it. With it now well protected, she returns it to her pocket, fingering it very deliberately for luck.

Inexplicably, that act leaves her feeling better, more confident and optimistic as she looks at the unconscious man next to her. "Hang in there, Sir," she tells him, much like he'd said to her just last night. "The worst is over, and this will pass soon."

She only hopes it's true.

Severus has far too much experience with these kinds of things. He knows they're both still very much in danger. He keeps chasing after the witch, and he keeps catching up to her, but just as reliably she disappears as he does and his arms close on air... He keeps sawing, sawing at her bonds, but somehow he never manages to get her to safety...

For a brief moment Hermione thinks she sees his eyes moving beneath his lids. She wonders if she should call Madam Pomfrey back to check on him, but when she looks at him closely again, she reluctantly decides she was mistaken. It was just wishful thinking.

With a heavy sigh, she takes advantage of the privacy and Evanescos the porridge.

After breakfast, Albus enters the Infirmary to find it puzzlingly empty. There's no sign of any of the three people the castle had indicated he'd find there. He pokes his head into Poppy's office, still no trace of the woman. Well, it's not like Severus can have wandered off, poor wretch. She's probably with him, wherever she's moved him.

Albus is incredibly disappointed to note that Miss Granger is gone. He had thought her both far more grateful and loyal. And here the chit seems to have... scarpered. He had half assumed the Oath he had her take would have her eager to avoid her friends, if the events of the previous night hadn't already provided her with sufficient cause to do so. This, this is likely to throw a spanner in the works.

Bugger!

He's well on his way to becoming highly annoyed when Poppy puts in an appearance. His expression is quickly schooled, and he's the picture of benevolence long before she reaches him. The flash of irritation is gone so quickly, she decides she imagined it.

"Hello, Poppy. I trust you slept well?" He smiles ever so kindly. "And how are our patients this morning?"

"Yes, thank you, Albus, I did. She's doing beautifully, all considered, although I think we should keep her on the Calming Draught until she's had some time to process things."

"Quite. Absolutely. As you think best. And Severus?"

"I'm afraid there's been no change in Severus' condition, although that's probably a good thing given the alternatives. We couldn't have expected any better with the state he was in last night."

"When do you think he might wake?"

"With luck, tomorrow."

"We'll just have to keep our fingers and toes crossed then, won't we?" He knows full well she's picturing those very toes of his in his brightly coloured socks; he's the embodiment of the quirky, avuncular old man. He looks around and then innocently enquires, "And where's our Miss Granger?"

"I have her keeping an eye on Severus for me," Poppy answers without hesitation. Few people question her in her Infirmary, and presenting the situation this way is more likely to make it seem perfectly... natural. To her way of thinking, it's hardly unnatural for the little witch to take an interest in his recovery, but she doesn't wish to expose her to censure. Or herself either for that matter.

"Oh, is she now? How lovely." He battles to contain his delight. This is certainly promising. "I'll go have a word with her then. I'll stop by to speak with you before I leave," he dismisses her with practised ease. Poppy hardly notices, but finds herself heading automatically for her office instead of back to Severus' room.

That leaves her chair free for Albus as he comes floating into the little room. "Good morning, Miss Granger. How are you feeling today? Have you recovered from your ordeal?"

"Oh, good morning, Sir. I'm feeling much better, thank you for asking." Albus secretly thinks she has the potion to thank for that, but it would be counterproductive to point that out. For a couple of reasons.

"Good, good, very glad to hear it. I gave your situation a great deal of thought last night, and I must admit it has me most worried. I believe I have, however, struck upon a solution that I wanted to speak to you about, a way to ensure your safety..."

His spiel is interrupted by a rather deliberately loud, "Mr. Potter, where do you think you're going?" trumpeting in from Poppy in the main room, undoubtedly to give them some warning. He takes the hint.

"I suspect in light of how Harry feels about the good Professor, and the fact we haven't reached a decision yet about what to tell him about last night, that it would be best if he found you in your own bed, don't you agree?"

Hermione instantly sees the wisdom in this, having already risen nervously at Madam Pomfrey's outburst. She can hear voices outside, where the Matron is no doubt questioning Harry and holding him up for them. Hermione's beginning to reevaluate what she knows of the woman; she's a good deal more subtle than she had previously given her credit for.

The Headmaster emerges from the room first, and with a slight wave of his wand shifts the curtained screen by her bed forward enough that it provides cover for her to slip from the private room and into her bed without being noticed. Professor Dumbledore gives her a friendly nod and softly tells her, "We'll continue this later, my dear," before heading towards the front of the room where he greets Harry with a hearty, "Why, hello, Harry. Good lad, although I think you'll find she prefers black currants."

"Oh, um, good morning, Sir, I, uh..."

"Yes, of course. Have a nice visit," he replies, all smiles and twinkling eyes, and drifts off to speak to Poppy in her office.

"Morning, 'Mione. How are you doing?" Harry asks as he comes over and takes the seat next to her bed.

"Hi, Harry. Alright, thanks," she responds somewhat subdued, still undecided what tone to take or how she wants to deal with the situation and him going forward.

"Yeah, McGonagall said..."

"Professor McGonagall," Hermione corrects without thinking.

Harry smirks, she's apparently perfectly fine. It doesn't occur to him that she'd probably still do that were she on her last legs. "Right. She told us that you were in the Infirmary. Good thing, too, because Lav's story about what you were up to kept getting more creative with each retelling."

"What on earth would she have to tell about it? I just wasn't there. That's pretty thin for a story."

"Yeah, well, you know Lav..."

"Yes, I do," Hermione readily agrees, her lips pressed into a tight line in annoyance at the thought.

Harry tries to distract her and cheer her up. "I brought you a couple of baps and a pot of jam. The food here isn't really..." Looking about to see the Matron's not visible, he pulls the food out from where it was hidden in a napkin under his robes.

"No, it really isn't, is it?" She agrees with a smile.

"Except it's strawberry, and I guess it should've been black currant..." He has no idea whatsoever how the Headmaster had known what he'd brought with him, only that he'd been rumbled.

"Strawberry will be lovely. Thanks, Harry. You're my hero." Hermione gives him a genuinely warm smile. It really was frightfully kind of Harry to have thought to bring her something to eat.

"I see you've been reading my press. Don't you dare believe a word of it," he tries to joke, waggling a finger at her scoldingly. The 'Quibbler' article was still causing him some trouble. People kept transfiguring his things green in passing in the hallways now, and Gin was still put out. He didn't mind the green so much as long as they stuck to his clothes, but a few had tried to dye his hair, with mixed results. He's probably lucky it's naturally so dark.

Ginny had gone so far as to turn his skin a mottled green. It wasn't quite the resounding success she'd hoped. Harry suspects she had a few tips from Fred and George, blighters, but they didn't exactly pan out. Gin has quite the temper, and Harry spent a few days in October looking too much like Trevor or a walking, human-sized patch of mould-like Bundimun for comfort. At least he smelt better.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Harry. I've met far too many of the reporters." That statement had been true when Rita Skeeter was the only one she'd met. It's only grown more so with each additional reporter she encounters.

Harry smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He's all too obviously uncomfortable about something. She knows him too well for him to hide it, and so she waits him out. Experience shows if she does, he'll spill sooner rather than later. Sure enough, in no time at all, his hand's ruffling his hair or rubbing his neck, his eyes are carefully studying the ground, and he begins, "Ron would've come, but he has Quidditch practice..."

"I understand," she assures him. She does, but probably not what they're both pretending she's implying.

His lie is more transparent than Nearly-Headless Nick, and the way he musses his hair would give it away if the simple logic of the fact that they're both on the same team hadn't. But Hermione appreciates that he's trying to spare her feelings. Or maybe he's just trying to cover for Ron. When she thinks about it, she's not really sure which of them he's trying to protect. She gives her friend the benefit of the doubt and decides both.

Frankly, McGonagall hadn't made Hermione's condition sound all that bad, and Ron's still annoyed with her about... Actually it's kind of hard to keep up with why. She was annoyed about the Registration thing. He was annoyed that she was annoyed. And then Ron was annoyed about her reaction to his Halloween costume; he'd been sort of proud of that. And then Harry thinks Hermione might have been annoyed about that. It's gotten pretty hard to keep track of, and Harry's basically lost patience with it. And Ron really was practising. Only he didn't have to, he'd chosen to do it instead of joining Harry to visit their friend. But Harry just can't see the benefit in saying so.

"There's a game coming up..." he continues a little lamely.

"Absolutely," she agrees. "In two weeks, wasn't it?" She looks almost innocent as she says it.

"Well, yeah. But it's against Slytherin, y'know..."

"Oh, yes, I imagine I do. King Weasley and all that."

"Yeah..." The silence stretches awkwardly. Hermione thinks she might just be able to hear the sound of a Chizpurfle's claws clicking somewhere in the distance. Harry's eager to change the topic. Gesturing at her bandaged arm, he shakes his head and says, "Merlin, 'Mione, you really need to be more careful."

After Professor McGonagall's comments earlier, Hermione's probably a little more sensitive to suggestions this might somehow be her fault. It definitely doesn't help that she holds Harry and Ron to blame for instigating the situation through their initial attacks on Malfoy. Or their subsequent fighting with him yesterday. And it really stuck in her craw that they had stood silently by as Lavender and Parvati and the others had practically chased her from the study niche last night. Not that anyone could have known what would happen, but still... At the least she feels they exacerbated things. She's reasonably sure she didn't contribute to the mess. It's been almost four years since she slapped the ferret, and he hadn't mentioned that once yesterday. He certainly hadn't been the one who slapped her last night.

"Like you haven't spent plenty of time here before," she objects a bit petulantly.

"Yeah, but that's doing stuff that's actually supposed to be dangerous, like Quidditch, and not things like going to the Library or walking down a hallway. Next it'll just be breathing or something. You really need to be more careful." He's trying for a laugh, but he's just putting his foot in it. Maybe even both feet.

"That's not fair, Harry. Neither the basilisk nor last night were in any way my fault." Truth be told, she can't help thinking there's a disproportionate involvement of Weasleys in both instances.

That's probably not exactly fair either, particularly Ginny's involvement with the basilisk. She'd been almost as much a victim in that as Hermione had yesterday. But Hermione still resents that Ginny never told anyone about it, and Hermione ended up spending the best part of a month petrified as a result. If the encounter with the basilisk had occurred even a single day earlier, Hermione would have been dead instead. And she would have been then, too, if she hadn't just found that page about basilisks. That's hard to overlook.

If she stretches things, and today she's somewhat inclined to, she could even blame her stint as a cat person on Ginny's silence, but she freely acknowledges her own role in that.

Worse yet, the underlying issue second year had been problems between Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy. So that's now at least three Weasleys involved, and only two Malfoys, if she's counting noses, which she is. And she sort of expects problems from the bigoted blond pure-bloods. The Weasleys are supposed to be her friends and allies. With 'friends' like these...

And oddly neither of the two Weasleys currently still at school have bothered to come to visit her... Maybe she's just feeling put out, but it hurts just the same.

"I was exactly where I was supposed to have been, doing exactly what I should have been doing. And then it happened out of the blue. This wasn't. My. Fault," she further defends herself against his non-attack, although Harry's disinclined to think she should have been studying on a Friday night.

"Well, I guess some people are just more 'incident' prone than others," Harry sums it up patly.

She knows he has no idea what happened, but that particular statement just... It just gets to her. Badly. And between that and her irritation with Ron, and Ginny, too, to be honest, her aggravation over Professor McGonagall's and Harry's comments about blame, however 'innocent' they may have been... Hermione's had quite enough.

"I appreciate your stopping by, Harry. It was nice to see you. And thanks again for the rolls." It's polite. Perfectly polite, and yet Harry finds himself standing up with a clear sense of having been excused.

"Sure, 'Mione. Feel better soon, yeah?"

"Sure, Harry. Thanks again." He doesn't understand why, but he senses she's angry. He's reasonably sure this is down to her issues with Ron again, and he can't help thinking of them both with some annoyance. He hates being caught in the middle. It's not like he caused their problems. But he doesn't stop to question if his fence-sitting isn't part of the reason she's losing patience with him, too.

When Albus sees Harry leave the Infirmary, he heads back to the young witch to finish their chat.

“beyond wandpoint” 017 by gingerbred

“11 08d Saturday - Rounds”

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