“beyond wandpoint” 019 by gingerbred
Mar. 20th, 2019 01:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
beyondwandpoint“11 08-09 Sat - Sun - Ruminations and Awakenings”
...some ruder than others.
Hermione, Poppy, Luna, Albus, Severus
Originally Published: 2017-11-22 on AO3
Chapter: 019
Pairing: Hermione Granger / Severus Snape
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
As good as Hermione's day may have been, her night is far worse. She doesn't get much sleep. Again.
She has a lot to think about, and those thoughts are far from relaxing. Keeping busy had gone a long way to stop her from obsessing about it too much, but she has decisions to take, and it would seem not much time in which to do it. Sat here in the quiet and dark, with nothing but the sound of his breathing to keep her company, her thoughts apparently have nowhere else to go.
Not the least bit conducive to getting any rest, for example, is what the Headmaster had said about how dangerous the situation has become for Muggle-born witches outside of the (clearly theoretical) safety of the school grounds. The 'Prophet' hasn't told the half of it. She's disappointed in herself that that comes as any kind of surprise. It's not like she's ever considered them particularly reliable. And she should know better than most how they distort the truth.
But somehow she had consoled herself that they present things worse than they actually are, muckraking in their unbridled ambition to sell papers. It had provided a little comfort. Things couldn't be that bad out there then, were that the case. It appears she was sorely mistaken.
And seriously at risk.
She had grossly underestimated how precarious her own situation as the 'Mudblood' friend of Harry Potter was. Yesterday was a real eye opener. A wake-up call. Perhaps even a call to action... She's just not sure what that action should be.
The Headmaster seems a good deal more certain what needs to be done. He suggested this... bonding - a permanent solution, and isn't that terrifying - and a series of Vows to go with it. Three, to be precise: Fidelity, Protection and Loyalty.
The Fidelity Vow, apparently meant to be mutual, excludes the possibility of... relations outside of the bond. Neither one of them had addressed the implication that within the bond that would clearly be... possible.
No, they skirted that very nicely.
The Protection and Loyalty Vows would each be one-sided. Professor Snape would take the Protection Vow, were he willing, a sort of promise to act to keep her safe. And she would take the Loyalty Vow in response, which should keep his secrets as a spy both for the Order and the Death Eaters safe. That hardly seems a fair trade, especially as his secrets wouldn't have been at risk otherwise.
There was also a method of bonding their magic. A way of combining strength so the bondmate in need could draw from the other. The Headmaster was vague, and didn't sound too hopeful that it would be a consideration. She assumes his judgment is correct in that matter, but honestly can't understand why he's hopeful that any of it would be a consideration. It's not like he doesn't know the Professor...
She'd had to fight not to blush too deeply when Professor Dumbledore spoke of the Fidelity Vow in light of some of the things she'd fantasised about last night. In light of a great many things she'd fantasised about. Heavens. She hopes her blush wasn't too noticeable. And then it dawns on her he'd performed Legilimency on her while she was still very much in the grip of that damnable potion.
Well then.
She delicately plucks imaginary lint from her top and doesn't think about any of that. Much. She's not blazingly successful.
What she is is a little heated.
She'll count herself lucky not to die of embarrassment here and now. Lucky enough.
Madam Pomfrey had been unsure about allowing her to stay here for the night. If she'd had even the faintest notion of some of her thoughts from the night before, the Matron would never have agreed to letting her keep vigil. She probably wouldn't even allow her in the same room with supervision. Hermione shakes her head and lets out a huff of embarrassed laughter. Not proper, indeed.
Well the potion was hardly her fault.
And if she could disavow more of those thoughts from last night, she might even feel that presents an adequate defence...
As to the business at hand, she tries to pull her thoughts together, she can't hide out here forever. Come graduation in June, the protection Hogwarts offers her, such as it is, she scoffs, will be gone. If she accepts the concept of bonding as a viable option, and she's not sure if it is, then the bondmate needs to be someone who would be able to withstand the threat bonding her presents. There probably aren't many for whom that's the case. And with the addition of the Protection Vow, that's doubtless even more true.
The Headmaster had expended a bit of effort explaining that it would mean almost certain death for Ron, as though that were even a consideration. Bonding him, not his death, obviously. Well, neither really. She'd prefer to take her chances.
The same was true for Neville, too, for that matter, assuming he could be prevailed upon to entertain such a solution. Or any of Ron's brothers, with the possible exception of Bill, and he was married anyway. Harry was naturally completely out of the question; they'd only succeed in making each other bigger targets.
Professor Dumbledore then explained how Professor Snape's dual role meant he could convince the Death Eaters that he was required to protect her to maintain his cover as their spy in the Order. So in addition to being one of the better qualified individuals in terms of magical ability, he was also rather uniquely positioned to convince them to just... leave her alone. That has a certain appeal.
The fact that his was the only name mentioned that caused her to blush escaped neither. She's valiantly pretending it did. But she probably only blushed because of the circumstances of yesterday. There's no need to blow that out of proportion...
The clear problem with the bonding suggestion, beyond whether he would ever consider agreeing to it, was that the Professor's intervention on her behalf just last night had nearly cost him his life. Not even the Headmaster had disputed that fact. And she finds herself utterly unwilling to put her Potions Professor at risk again.
The Headmaster had recognised her resistance rather quickly and tried to convince her this was in the Order's interests. Surely that was of greatest importance to her, was it not? One of her highest priorities? Given her unflagging support... And she wouldn't wish to endanger their plans...
When she didn't nibble, he shifted tactics, and had then tried to persuade her that Professor Snape might need her to do this for his protection. Obviously she would be interested in helping him any way she could. True enough, beyond a doubt, but the argument seemed highly... specious.
Honestly, she'll need to hear that from the Potions Master himself before she's willing to credit it. The fact is, he has demonstrated an obvious willingness to put her safety, her interests before his own. She believes she can trust him to tell her what's in her interest. Not necessarily what's in his, but even still, that's already half the battle won. And she's certain: with more facts, she can begin to anticipate what he needs.
Fortuitously, the Headmaster had then just so happened to provide her with those longed for facts. She wonders if he used Legilimency on her given the auspicious timing. He claims one of Professor Snape's driving motives is an abiding intolerance for violence against women.
Professor Snape's mother Eileen, a pure-blood witch, had married a Muggle, and the Professor grew up as Hermione and Harry had in that world. Hermione would never have suspected; he seems so perfectly integrated. Hints were dropped that perhaps his surroundings there were much less pleasant than hers or even Harry's for it to be such an issue for him. As such, he apparently has very atypical views on the matter for a wizard.
In the wizarding world, wands are the great equaliser. Generally speaking, a witch can shift as much as a wizard or duel just as fiercely. Only in very rare cases, when the wielder is seriously injured and magic is used to the utmost, like the Professor had yesterday, is it a question of the individual's strength. And even then, the individual's innate power and physical fitness play a far more significant role than gender. At worst, it's a slight disadvantage and nothing more. As such, quarter is generally neither given nor asked, and not expected.
In the Muggle world, on the other hand, physical strength and size can make a huge difference, if only because the perception of being an easier target increases the chances of becoming one. Hermione understands this. The Potions Master would seem to have the corresponding hard limits, and those are currently being assailed by the Death Eaters. Professor Dumbledore's hope is that Hermione's presence could put a stop to that.
Somehow.
She senses she hasn't gotten the whole story. She also senses she now knows far more than he would ever want her to, and feels guilty about it. But it leaves her thinking long and hard about how he'd responded yesterday, how he'd positioned himself, bravely, protectively, without hesitation between her and her attackers last night, and what she should do now.
She imagines that will probably be up to him.
"So what do you think, Sir? What should we should do?"
He never stops. He keeps sawing at her bonds, vanishing the blood, healing her bloodied lip, repairing her clothes, but she... She doesn't stop either. She just keeps returning in that thrice damned chair. He begins transfiguring her clothes, into iron, then steel, hoping that might protect her, but it just turns to rust. He thinks it's because of the tears...
She sits there in the dark, biting her lip and staring at the man, stupidly hoping for a response. Unsurprisingly, she gets no answer. She hadn't expected one, but it helps, at least a little, to voice her considerations out loud, to use him as a sounding board. Her thoughts return to her discussion with Professor Dumbledore.
Hermione isn't sure what to think about her unwillingness to trust the Headmaster's word. Harry trusts him. Well, not implicitly. He's never been willing to believe him about Professor Snape. And she's not sure how good a judge of things Harry really is. But her distrust of the Order's leader leaves her feeling very out of sorts.
She spends some time mulling that over as she looks at the man stretched out on the bed beside her.
His skin is still incredibly pale, she wonders if he's regained any colour at all since he collapsed. The Infirmary gown doesn't help, it washes out the wearer, and makes it hard to judge. She performs the Discerno, again, and comforts herself that the readings are promising. But then they were unlikely to have changed much since she last cast it.
His arms lie exposed above the blanket, and she stares at the Dark Mark for some time. It occurs to her that some hours ago she'd been whinging about being 'branded'. It further strikes her that that is just another word she doesn't seem to use correctly. The Professor seems to be redefining a good many terms for her, in a very short space of time, and he's not even conscious.
She really needs to work on her sense of perspective. It's not good to have to wear the badge, no one would argue otherwise. It's worse, naturally, that it's automatic. But she's hardly branded.
Which reminds her there's a gown waiting for her without the badge in the other room for her to sleep in. She goes to change for the night, and then returns to her post, wrapping herself tightly in the blanket as she settles in. It really is incredibly soft and smells wonderful, and only as she's falling asleep does it occur to her that she hadn't even touched a textbook today. Somehow it didn't seem to matter.
By and large, things worked out much as Albus had hoped, even if not quite as he envisioned. Miss Granger was left unsure if this isn't more for her benefit than Severus', as he intended. She can't quite understand how it would actually help him, which goes a long way to ensuring that. Ultimately, however, she's unconvinced. She's not just taking his word for things. On the other hand, she hasn't rejected the idea.
She wants to hear confirmation from Severus. Albus is pleased. That works just as well for the solution as what he'd originally planned.
She had had a number of concerns, predominantly reasonable. Many of them he had addressed; some of them he couldn't without Severus. They would simply have to discuss them together when he wakes, hopefully tomorrow.
He's optimistic.
Hermione wakes bright and early from another pleasant dream, still in her chair next to the Professor, when Madam Pomfrey enters the room with potions for each of them. The Mediwitch casts a far more complicated Charm than the Discerno on the Professor, allowing Hermione to see the results, and explaining what they mean and what they can expect. The news is very good, and Hermione is relieved to hear he should be waking soon. Today, by the look of things. A matter of hours, even.
They play their game with breakfast again. Again a tray with porridge is left next to her. Again she makes a series of polite sounds about eating it later. And again she'll Vanish it as soon as the Matron leaves. There is something comforting about routines.
Madam Pomfrey asks if she would like to use the house elf to fetch some of her things, which she gladly accepts. It probably is about time she did some schoolwork. She's had roughly thirty-six hours off. With only seven months until N.E.W.T.s, that's almost unconscionable.
As the Mediwitch turns to leave Hermione calls after her, "Madam Pomfrey, what is the blanket made from?"
She laughs. "You didn't recognise it?" She teases. "I shouldn't worry about that, I wouldn't expect you to. It's a mixture of Peruvian Puffskein fur and Acromantula silk."
Now it's Hermione's turn to laugh, "And here I felt sure it wouldn't be something Hagrid might raise."
"That sounds almost right. I could see our Hagrid raising Acromantulas."
"Oh, he's not just capable, he has done," Hermione informs her. "I don't suppose the Puffskeins were of a fanged variety?"
"Not unless they were in violation of the Ban on Experimental Breeding," Poppy replies with a smile, thinking that probably wouldn't stop Hagrid either. He's always been frightfully curious and not easily put off. "It isn't a very widespread blend, but it is incredibly soft, and I find it conducive to restful sleep and nice dreams."
Hermione realises with a start, "It's yours, isn't it? This doesn't belong to the Infirmary..."
The Matron gives another of those one-sided shrugs and just answers, "You looked like you could use the rest," and bustles off.
The young witch's "Thank you!" floats out after her, and the Mediwitch smiles to herself in satisfaction as she enters her office.
Hermione retreats to the main room and has Polly fetch her books, toiletries and some clothes from the tower. Even with options, she reaches for the burgundy top Madam Pomfrey made for her yesterday. It looks very nice on her, and silly as that might sound, it boosts her confidence. She has a feeling she'll be needing it today.
Suitably armoured to face the day, or so she hopes, she grabs the pile of textbooks and returns to the Potion Master's side, noticing she really does tend to wrap herself in the blanket whenever it's in reach. Her smile is almost as soft as the blanket as she does.
Hermione makes good progress with her revisions until she hears Madam Pomfrey call loudly, "Miss Lovegood, where do you think you're going?"
She now knows the rules for this game, and smirks as she slips back into her bed behind the cover of the screen.
Luna drifts in as only Luna can. Her blouse shows the influence of her trip to India this past summer; somehow, it suits her. Last weekend it was fuchsia, today it's a vibrant medium blue that makes her eyes shine. Parvati had been displeased when Luna started wearing the ethnic clothing, apparently feeling Luna was poaching on her terrain from what Hermione gathered of her roommate's frequent complaints to Lavender. Padma had been far more supportive, and had even gone so far as to help her housemate drape her sari on occasion. That was probably a good thing, because Luna had managed some heretofore unseen methods of draping when left to her own devices, an impressive feat considering the number of known variations.
Her accessories, though, remain typically Luna; they couldn't become any more exotic if she tried. Currently she seems to be wearing a ring made of a Brussels sprout and a single beetle wing earring. Ah, and a fascinator consisting of a carrot top. Why not? Hermione resolves not to ask.
"Harry says 'hi'," Luna almost sighs as she takes a seat next to Hermione on the bed, bouncing slightly on the mattress. "He's sorry he couldn't come, but he's got Quidditch practice," she further lilts, which Hermione interprets correctly to mean he didn't want to stop by after their misunderstanding yesterday. "But he sent this," and the blonde pulls a pot of black currant preserves from under her robes. Also correctly, Hermione reads that as an attempted peace offering. She smiles, she can't stay mad at him long anyway.
"It was nice of him, wasn't it?" Luna points to the preserves. "I thought you might like these to go with it, though." A napkin filled with more baps joins the jam on the stand next to Hermione's bed. "I think it would be pretty messy without them." She tilts her head a bit to the side as she thinks about it. "Or you could transfigure a spoon, but then that would probably still be too sweet."
Hermione assumes the Quidditch excuse is meant to explain Ron and Ginny's continued absences as well. They were evidently so lazy, that they hadn't even made the effort to establish an excuse with Luna. Or maybe it wasn't so much laziness as they thought Hermione wasn't even worth the effort, she thinks with annoyance. Recalling Harry's phrasing yesterday, Harry was the one who had put forward the excuse. There was no message from Ron.
She's probably correct in her assessment of Ron; with Ginny things are a good deal more complicated. As irritating as Harry's fence-sitting can become, Hermione frequently doesn't, and that can be every bit as bad or worse. Hermione is quite likely to give someone her opinion, whether it's solicited or not. And there can be no doubt, first and foremost, Hermione is Harry's friend. On occasion, that's proven difficult for Ginny. Particularly now that she and Harry are no longer a couple.
Luna starts trying to entertain Hermione with tales from last summer's trip. Hermione has trouble focusing on what she's saying. In part, it's because the Gryffindor just has a lot on her mind. But it doesn't help that Hermione also doesn't believe in the creatures the Lovegoods were looking for. And it's more than a little problematic for her that the stories of Luna's happy adventures with her father are a stark and uncomfortable contrast to the reports of Muggle hunting Hermione had been following while they were apparently larking about. Not for the first time, Hermione finds herself feeling she and Luna inhabit vastly different realities.
It's nice, though, that Luna makes the effort to reach out from wherever it is her reality is. She may be the dottiest person Hermione will ever meet, but she's also one of the kindest and most loyal.
Albus stops by Sunday morning after breakfast to check on two of his current projects in the Infirmary. When he sees Miss Lovegood speaking to Miss Granger, he simply smiles kindly and nods to the witch and then changes course, nipping in to the Matron's office instead.
Fortunately, Poppy is seated at her desk today, and he needn't search for her. In his most concerned manner, he asks her about her two patients, listens carefully to Severus' prognosis, and discusses his treatment and potions regimen with her. He even has some helpful suggestions. His one hundred and sixteen years of experience have given him useful insights, it would seem.
He requests, quite reasonably, that when Severus should be about to wake, she be so kind as to send for him. And if she wouldn't mind, would she also keep the other patient distracted? He's quite sure it's for the best if he's the one to break the plan for bonding them to the man.
Poppy certainly isn't about to disagree. Wild thestrals...
Luna starts fishing about in her bag, the carrot greens in her hair bobbing furiously as she does. Hermione worries for a moment she'll pull out a Gurdyroot or some other smelly thing, and is pleasantly surprised when she withdraws a bunch of scrolls instead. Those seem inoffensive enough. With Luna, one never knows. She unrolls the scrolls to reveal a series of animated charcoal drawings, incredibly good, of even more creatures Hermione doubts exist. That will probably also explain why Luna is carrying around sketches instead of pictures.
When Luna takes a break from her explanations of the various beasts, Hermione asks her if she had drawn the pictures. Luna says she had, explaining how it helped to be able to show people what exactly they were looking for. Not that they had achieved any results for their efforts, but at least that hadn't been down to communication issues.
"When did you learn to draw like this?"
"I started two years ago with Professor Grubbly-Plank. She had us sketching Nifflers."
"We sketched Bowtruckles," Hermione absently corrects, looking through the drawings, seriously impressed.
"In your year, maybe. We drew Nifflers," Luna corrects her gently in return. "I realised then how helpful that could be for a magizoologist, and decided to learn."
"These are excellent, Luna. You're very good." It strikes her that unlike the rest of them, and for all they, frankly, tend to look down on Luna a bit for her crazy beliefs, she has a clear idea of what she likes doing and what it entails, and is making progress to that end. It's disconcerting to say the least to think Luna may be the most together of their friends.
Neville is probably a close second with his pursuit of Herbology. Harry, it occurs to her with surprise, is probably third with his desire to become an Auror. Ron, she's always suspected, had followed along for lack of his own personal goals, and didn't seem to realise what the job entailed. And she and Ginny are apparently planless at the rear. There's yet another paradigm shift.
The blonde rises to leave and begins to pack up her things. Nodding at the small pile of folded clothing on the little table next to the baps, she surprises Hermione by saying, "You might want to change. I think he'll prefer the green."
Hermione just sits there blinking dumbly for a moment. She could be talking about Harry, after all, it was the article in the 'Quibbler' that had started that rumour. It doesn't help that Hermione has no idea what she said before that; given Luna, it's as likely to have been nothing.
"I wore that yesterday," Hermione puts her off.
Luna just lifts her wand and cleans it for her, "There you go then, but you could have done that yourself. Trust me, wear the green. Feel better soon, Hermione. I'll see you tomorrow." And with that she gives her a hug and then skips off in a haze of Indian silk, school robes, flying blonde hair and carrot greens.
No one is quite like Luna.
Hermione couldn't explain it if she tried, but the next thing she knows, she's changing her top. Who knows, maybe the Nargles would have taken it otherwise.
Grabbing a bap and the preserves, she returns to the back room, her books, her studying and her Professor, where she stays learning quite happily until Madam Pomfrey calls her into her office two hours later to discuss the potions she'd like her to take. Hermione quickly Banishes the books to the cupboard in the corner and hurries off to speak with her. It wouldn't do to keep the Matron waiting.
Albus is seated once again to the right of Severus' bed in Poppy's chair when, just as the Matron had promised, the man begins to come to. His eyes are having more than a little trouble focusing, yet he reaches for Albus' robes, clutching them earnestly, and despite his state manages to choke out a hoarse, "Miss Granger?"
Albus couldn't be more thrilled.
He begins a rush of what might even be reassuring words about said witch's condition, it's hard to recall, she's something resembling fine, shaken, but mostly fine, and how they're quite certain they have Severus, and him alone, wonder of wonders, when does that ever happen, to thank for the fact that she's currently in any shape at all, thank you ever so, and somewhere towards the end of it, did he even pause to breathe, he waxes nearly lyrical about what a magnificent effort it was, truly heroic...
"Praise, Albus? What distasteful thing do you want me to do next?" Severus interrupts the litany.
At which point Albus smoothly changes the tune, and possibly orchestra and venue as well, and weaves in something about how he'd like for Severus to bond with the witch to continue to keep her safe.
Oof.
Or at least that's how Severus will recall it. It was all rather overwhelming.