An Episode of Sorrow
Title: An Episode Of Sorrow
Team Name: Spy for the ... Death Eaters (because they have cookies? ;))
Word Count: (100 x 4)
Rating: G
Challenge: Hermione as Headmistress challenge
Characters: Hermione, Severus (I promise he’s alive in this, despite what the title said *winks*)
Authors Notes: Oi, I would love for some hugs and comfort from Severus one of these days. So okay, I haven’t saved anyone’s lives, but I would love to hear someone tell me they’re proud of me… *tired sigh*
As always, this is beta'd by the fabulous septentrion1970 . Thank you, dear!
Warning: Might sound a bit too melancholy than I intended.
~.~.~.~.~.
Five children had died from the mutated version of dragon pox in the two weeks since the plague had broken at Hogwarts. More than a dozen more were quarantined at St. Mungo’s.
But they had done it. They had successfully formularized the antidote.
She had done everything in her power-as the Headmistress-to prevent the plague from spreading. The school was closed temporarily. She had called all Arithmancy and Potions experts all over Europe and they had worked night and day, herself included-under the supervision of her husband, Severus Snape. Age did not wither his expertise in Potions.
She had not seen the bed since. She’d slept were she’d worked last: her desk, the sitting room, in front of the fireplace with books spread out in front of her. It was like an invisible force had kept her going. She’d refused to feel tired when lives-innocent lives-had been at stakes. Severus was no better. Every minute counted when the condition of the infected students in the quarantine ward worsened with every second.
The Governing Board had not been helping-not that she was surprised. They had protested when her name had come on top as the next principal to the legendary academia of the wizarding world.
A Muggleborn. Some even went to the extent of using the other crude derogatory word.
In fact, ever since the plague had hit them, they were crying foul of her competency. To her tired yet bemused sigh, some had screamed that this was a curse set on them by electing a non-pureblood witch as the Headmistress. But nothing-no possible amount of threats-could have prevented her from keeping a clear head on the main goal. And that had been to keep on searching for the antidote.
She knew some of them had past grudges against her husband. And so, she’d stood strong and had professionally ‘declined’ to step down.
And now, in the wee hours of the dawn-with the antidote successfully transported and administered to the infected patients-fatigue and anguished despair got to her. The burden had been lifted from her shoulders, but her heart ached for the dead children. In the privacy of their bedroom, she broke down to tears in her husband’s arm desperately seeking warmth and comfort. Desperate for healing as he held her tight and whispered, “It’ll be alright. I’m proud of you.”