Yuletide Potions XVII
Title: Yuletide Potions XVII
Team: Spy for the Order of the Phoenix
Word Count: 13 x 100
Rating: G
Challenges: Broken Memory Charm, Comfort and Joy
Characters: Severus, Hermione, Wendell and Monica Wilkins/Granger
A/N: Sorry for the delay, yesterday didn’t turn out to be a good writing day.
Where it all started
Where we left off
The kitchen had taken on the appearance of a Potions lab, as Severus and Hermione brewed Strengthening Solution and relaxing potions to prepare her parents for the rebuilding of their neural pathways. The dining room table was covered in parchments with notes on the appropriate spellcasting technique and arithmantic formulas calculating the impact of Hermione’s previous efforts in tandem with both the original memory charm and the overlay of the Death Eater spell. The lounge room was the only space big enough for proper discussion, once the furniture had been pushed up against the walls to make room for pacing.
…
Monica drew the blinds and told all and sundry that Wendell had a bad case of the flu and wasn’t up to having visitors. Not only did this keep their friends out of the house, with all its suspicious activities, but it also ensured a steady stream of casseroles and baked goods and pots of soup, which solved the problem of not being able to fix meals in the kitchen.
“How sure are you that you’re working on the right spell?” Wendell asked Severus as they picked at an elaborate Pavlova.
“We’re not. It is, however, the most likely possibility.”
…
“You’re something like a chemist, right? Not a medical specialist.”
“That is correct,” Severus replied.
Hermione picked a piece of kiwi off the meringue. “Why are you asking, Dad?”
“I may not remember being a dentist, but I have a pretty good sense that this isn’t how you go about solving a medical mystery. You two are so focused on developing a cure, you haven’t bothered researching the malady itself.”
“There must be some sort of magical diagnostic tools. Tests that can be run. It’s more important to get this right than it is to do it quickly,” Monica said.
…
Severus mentally rolled his eyes, carefully keeping his expression neutral. Dealing with Muggles was turning out to be every bit as trying as he had expected, not the least of which was the need to control his temper for Hermione’s sake.
“I appreciate that you are attempting to be … helpful … however, magic is nothing like Muggle medicine. Your expertise does not apply here.”
Hermione looked at her employer and then her parents. “No, Severus. I think it does. Mum? Dad? What do you think we should be doing?”
“What was that thing he did when you got here?”
…
Rapidly losing his patience for this exercise in coddling Muggle egos, Severus barely managed to contain his disdain. “Legilimency has already been tried. You have no memory of the spell that was cast, only of the spellcaster leaving the room.”
“Where was I?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, Severus. It does.” Glaring at him, arms akimbo, Monica looked very much like Hermione in a temper. “If she cast her spell on me first, I may have a memory of her casting on Wendell.”
Horrified, Severus drew himself up to his full height. “I would not presume to invade your mind, madam.”
…
“Why the hell not?”
Hermione gasped. It was the first time she had ever heard her mother swear. Then she turned on Severus. “Good question. Why the hell not?”
Looking affronted, Severus replied, “A gentleman does not intrude into the thoughts of ladies.”
The shocked silence was broken by Wendell’s hearty guffaw. Under the disapproving stares of his womenfolk, Wendell indulged in a long, mirthful laugh before collecting himself. “I won’t be questioning your intentions again, Severus. Just your sanity. These women aren’t exactly delicate flowers. I’ll be surprised if you manage to keep your balls intact after that one.”
…
Much as it chagrinned him to admit it, Monica had been right. Buried in the maelstrom of confused impressions of the events of two years earlier was a very clear memory of Dolores Umbridge, wearing a particularly lurid purple tweed, casting a stasis spell on Wendell.
“Why stasis? If she could perform the Dark spell, why wouldn’t she?” Monica asked.
“She probably couldn’t.” Hermione turned to Severus. “Why would Voldemort want to alter Muggle memories? I thought the Death Eaters only tortured and killed.”
“Propaganda. He was sowing panic in the Muggle world.” Umbridge had not worked on that project.
…
The stasis spell would be easy enough to remove, now that they knew what it was. Unless something Hermione had done since had altered it.
“We need an exact record of all my attempts. I’ve gone over this in my mind so many times, I can’t be sure I haven’t confused myself.”
Severus’ eyes widened in alarm and he backed out of the room. Seconds later, the Grangers heard the sound of the back door slamming.
Hermione sighed. “During the war, one of his responsibilities was reading the minds of new Death Eater recruits. It’s not something he talks about.”
…
“He’s a difficult man,” Monica observed.
“He’s a good man. The scars he carries, they are badges of honour, Mum. This is so difficult for him, but you can trust him; he always does the right thing, no matter how hard it is.”
“As I will again.” They hadn’t heard him re-entering the house. “Probing the minds of those one knows is … inevitably painful. It is near impossible to avoid the victim’s thoughts about oneself. One experiences all their emotions, every stray, uncharitable thought. And one never forgets it.” He turned to Hermione. “Our friendship will not survive it.”
…
“I am not your victim.”
“Pardon?”
“You said you can’t avoid the victim’s thoughts. I am not your victim. It will be different, Severus. Besides, there is no rush. You can pull out at any time and we can start again.”
Wendell looked at his daughter with concern. “Do you have such horrible memories of this man?”
This time, Severus did sneer. “I was her teacher for six years while pretending to be a Muggle-hating Death Eater. It would be astonishing if she did not.”
“Then we will avoid those memories. It will be okay, Severus. You won’t lose me.”
…
They went slowly, one memory at a time. Hermione took a dose of Wit-Sharpening Potion before each session and then focused her thoughts tightly on her recent worries about her parents. Wendell and Monica wrote down everything they could remember about each of her visits, and Severus carefully selected the related memories, observing Hermione’s actions in Gerringong and then following her thoughts backwards to examine the preparations she made before each visit. They were up to the most recent visit when he encountered a moment he hadn’t expected, the moment when she read those three little words: Wendell is ill.
…
Panic. Fear. Despair. She had run from the feelings she couldn’t face, run to safety, to comfort. Black clad arms encircling her. His arms. The feel of rough woolen stuff against her face, a line of buttons pressing down along her cheek. The warmth that radiated from the solidity of his chest. The steady, rhythmic thudding of his heart. She/he felt the fear and tension drain from her/his body, replaced by contentment, security, and then the faint whisper of the beginnings of … desire?
He pulled out of her mind just as her remembered self pulled out of his arms.
…
Severus was truly horrified. “That was wrong of me, I should never have pried into that moment. It was an unforgivable intrusion …”
“No.” It was her hand on his arm rather than her words that stopped him. “I wanted you to see that. That was the moment I first realized …”
The hope that had been flitting around Severus landed in his heart yet again. It had been teasing him for days, abandoning him completely when he’d first considered Legilimency on Hermione, but this time it settled in and took up residence, unpacking its bags and rearranging the furniture.
Next chapter
Team: Spy for the Order of the Phoenix
Word Count: 13 x 100
Rating: G
Challenges: Broken Memory Charm, Comfort and Joy
Characters: Severus, Hermione, Wendell and Monica Wilkins/Granger
A/N: Sorry for the delay, yesterday didn’t turn out to be a good writing day.
Where it all started
Where we left off
The kitchen had taken on the appearance of a Potions lab, as Severus and Hermione brewed Strengthening Solution and relaxing potions to prepare her parents for the rebuilding of their neural pathways. The dining room table was covered in parchments with notes on the appropriate spellcasting technique and arithmantic formulas calculating the impact of Hermione’s previous efforts in tandem with both the original memory charm and the overlay of the Death Eater spell. The lounge room was the only space big enough for proper discussion, once the furniture had been pushed up against the walls to make room for pacing.
…
Monica drew the blinds and told all and sundry that Wendell had a bad case of the flu and wasn’t up to having visitors. Not only did this keep their friends out of the house, with all its suspicious activities, but it also ensured a steady stream of casseroles and baked goods and pots of soup, which solved the problem of not being able to fix meals in the kitchen.
“How sure are you that you’re working on the right spell?” Wendell asked Severus as they picked at an elaborate Pavlova.
“We’re not. It is, however, the most likely possibility.”
…
“You’re something like a chemist, right? Not a medical specialist.”
“That is correct,” Severus replied.
Hermione picked a piece of kiwi off the meringue. “Why are you asking, Dad?”
“I may not remember being a dentist, but I have a pretty good sense that this isn’t how you go about solving a medical mystery. You two are so focused on developing a cure, you haven’t bothered researching the malady itself.”
“There must be some sort of magical diagnostic tools. Tests that can be run. It’s more important to get this right than it is to do it quickly,” Monica said.
…
Severus mentally rolled his eyes, carefully keeping his expression neutral. Dealing with Muggles was turning out to be every bit as trying as he had expected, not the least of which was the need to control his temper for Hermione’s sake.
“I appreciate that you are attempting to be … helpful … however, magic is nothing like Muggle medicine. Your expertise does not apply here.”
Hermione looked at her employer and then her parents. “No, Severus. I think it does. Mum? Dad? What do you think we should be doing?”
“What was that thing he did when you got here?”
…
Rapidly losing his patience for this exercise in coddling Muggle egos, Severus barely managed to contain his disdain. “Legilimency has already been tried. You have no memory of the spell that was cast, only of the spellcaster leaving the room.”
“Where was I?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, Severus. It does.” Glaring at him, arms akimbo, Monica looked very much like Hermione in a temper. “If she cast her spell on me first, I may have a memory of her casting on Wendell.”
Horrified, Severus drew himself up to his full height. “I would not presume to invade your mind, madam.”
…
“Why the hell not?”
Hermione gasped. It was the first time she had ever heard her mother swear. Then she turned on Severus. “Good question. Why the hell not?”
Looking affronted, Severus replied, “A gentleman does not intrude into the thoughts of ladies.”
The shocked silence was broken by Wendell’s hearty guffaw. Under the disapproving stares of his womenfolk, Wendell indulged in a long, mirthful laugh before collecting himself. “I won’t be questioning your intentions again, Severus. Just your sanity. These women aren’t exactly delicate flowers. I’ll be surprised if you manage to keep your balls intact after that one.”
…
Much as it chagrinned him to admit it, Monica had been right. Buried in the maelstrom of confused impressions of the events of two years earlier was a very clear memory of Dolores Umbridge, wearing a particularly lurid purple tweed, casting a stasis spell on Wendell.
“Why stasis? If she could perform the Dark spell, why wouldn’t she?” Monica asked.
“She probably couldn’t.” Hermione turned to Severus. “Why would Voldemort want to alter Muggle memories? I thought the Death Eaters only tortured and killed.”
“Propaganda. He was sowing panic in the Muggle world.” Umbridge had not worked on that project.
…
The stasis spell would be easy enough to remove, now that they knew what it was. Unless something Hermione had done since had altered it.
“We need an exact record of all my attempts. I’ve gone over this in my mind so many times, I can’t be sure I haven’t confused myself.”
Severus’ eyes widened in alarm and he backed out of the room. Seconds later, the Grangers heard the sound of the back door slamming.
Hermione sighed. “During the war, one of his responsibilities was reading the minds of new Death Eater recruits. It’s not something he talks about.”
…
“He’s a difficult man,” Monica observed.
“He’s a good man. The scars he carries, they are badges of honour, Mum. This is so difficult for him, but you can trust him; he always does the right thing, no matter how hard it is.”
“As I will again.” They hadn’t heard him re-entering the house. “Probing the minds of those one knows is … inevitably painful. It is near impossible to avoid the victim’s thoughts about oneself. One experiences all their emotions, every stray, uncharitable thought. And one never forgets it.” He turned to Hermione. “Our friendship will not survive it.”
…
“I am not your victim.”
“Pardon?”
“You said you can’t avoid the victim’s thoughts. I am not your victim. It will be different, Severus. Besides, there is no rush. You can pull out at any time and we can start again.”
Wendell looked at his daughter with concern. “Do you have such horrible memories of this man?”
This time, Severus did sneer. “I was her teacher for six years while pretending to be a Muggle-hating Death Eater. It would be astonishing if she did not.”
“Then we will avoid those memories. It will be okay, Severus. You won’t lose me.”
…
They went slowly, one memory at a time. Hermione took a dose of Wit-Sharpening Potion before each session and then focused her thoughts tightly on her recent worries about her parents. Wendell and Monica wrote down everything they could remember about each of her visits, and Severus carefully selected the related memories, observing Hermione’s actions in Gerringong and then following her thoughts backwards to examine the preparations she made before each visit. They were up to the most recent visit when he encountered a moment he hadn’t expected, the moment when she read those three little words: Wendell is ill.
…
Panic. Fear. Despair. She had run from the feelings she couldn’t face, run to safety, to comfort. Black clad arms encircling her. His arms. The feel of rough woolen stuff against her face, a line of buttons pressing down along her cheek. The warmth that radiated from the solidity of his chest. The steady, rhythmic thudding of his heart. She/he felt the fear and tension drain from her/his body, replaced by contentment, security, and then the faint whisper of the beginnings of … desire?
He pulled out of her mind just as her remembered self pulled out of his arms.
…
Severus was truly horrified. “That was wrong of me, I should never have pried into that moment. It was an unforgivable intrusion …”
“No.” It was her hand on his arm rather than her words that stopped him. “I wanted you to see that. That was the moment I first realized …”
The hope that had been flitting around Severus landed in his heart yet again. It had been teasing him for days, abandoning him completely when he’d first considered Legilimency on Hermione, but this time it settled in and took up residence, unpacking its bags and rearranging the furniture.
Next chapter