Shards
Title: Shards
Author: auntbijou
Rating: PG
Pairing: Hermione/Snape, but don’t get excited. No sex, no smut
Summary: Muggles aren’t the only ones who suffer addiction.
Warning: Potions addiction, withdrawals, memory loss. And because of DH, it’s definitely AU.
Words: 3,403
Disclaimer: This is J.K. Rowling’s universe. I just like to play in it and twist things around.
A/N: No sex, no smut, folks, just a “what if” that had chased me around for a long time before I finally wrote about it. I never found a place to post it, aside from my own journal, but now, I think it will fit just fine here.
The clock was ticking so very, very slowly. And very, very loudly. Every second counted like a heavy, slow dropping lead weight, falling through oil, and every slow, solid tick reverberated through her skull, echoing through her mind, running over her skin and making it tighten and crawl with nerves, making her hair hurt, like it was so many tiny needles being shoved into her scalp. It ached along her bones, along her nerves, along her skin, along her soul, an unbearable craving, a need, a want so hard, so painful, and she sat on the floor, knees under her chin, arms wrapped around her legs as she stared at the clock, counting off the seconds of her life, of her need, of her addiction…
With a soft sob, Hermione pressed her forehead into her knees, closing her eyes, rocking slightly as she fought, and fought, and fought. Don’t need it, don’t need it, don’t want it, don’t need it, she chanted to herself. I can do this, I can do this, just get through the next five minutes, and I can do this. Five more minutes, I can do this for five more minutes…I can do this…
She called on the strength that had gotten her through the war, through the deaths of her parents, her friends, through the disappointments, the anger, gotten her through imprisonment in the cells below the Dark Lord’s stronghold, and a subsequent escape, gotten her through battles that still gave her nightmares…strength and stubbornness, sheer force of will… something in her laughed bitterly. But was that all really you? asked that something. Something that sounded too much like the bossy know-it-all from her first year at Hogwarts. Smug, superior, too smart for her own good… she clenched her fists, and rocked harder. No, she was going to do this, and if she had to do it five minutes at a time…
Footsteps moving down the corridor made her stop and look up. Was it that time already? No! No, she could last longer! It wasn’t time! No, not yet! But now that she had been forced to notice externals, she became aware that her body was shaking, and dripping with sweat, despite the cool temperature down here in the dungeons. And her belly was cramping with need, her lungs on fire, her skin crawling and itching, and once again, there were handfuls of hair on the floor around her, testament to the fact she had been pulling it out without noticing during her withdrawals. The door clicked open, and he walked in, tray in hand, looking at her with a neutral expression on his face. “Miss Granger?”
“I’m quite all right,” she nearly snarled. “Just… just leave me alone. And… take that shit away.”
He said nothing, setting the tray down on a little table before walking to the fireplace and kneeling to light the fire by hand. One of the reasons she was isolated down here in Hogwarts’ dungeons was to keep her away from magic. No magic could be used around her while she was fighting this. Once he had gotten a good fire going, he got up and went back to the tray. He lifted a vial of a pale purple liquid. “It is time for your dose, Miss Granger.”
Hermione refused to look at him, staring instead at her hands. Gods, what had happened to her hands? They were nail-bitten, down past the quick, bloody from being gnawed, picked, and pulled, little shreds of skin standing up on the tips… she blinked in horror and looked back up. “Professor Snape… what’s happening to me?” she asked, a quaver in her voice.
“Miss Granger,” he said softly. “You are addicted to Navitas Animus. You’re fighting it… do you not remember?”
She frowned, trying so hard to think through the noise in her head, which was growing louder and louder. It wasn’t that she was hearing voices so much as hearing her body clamoring for that slender vial her former Potions professor was holding in his long, stained fingers. That pale purple potion that would taste of the way wisteria smelled in the spring, wisteria and moonflowers and violets, and the way it crackled across the tongue as it went down, because of the rain water that had to be collected during the worst of a violent electrical storm, supercharged water that literally glowed with the lightning that had charged it, and how it seemed to flow through her body so smooth, like the honey that someone, someone whose face she was very carefully blanking from her mind, someone liked to pour over her skin and lick off so gently, and slowly, driving her into desperation… she clenched her fists and began to strike her own head, sobbing.
“Miss Granger. Miss Granger, please…” and large hands were catching her wrists, holding them firmly. “Please, you cannot do this to yourself. I know… I know it hurts…”
“No!” she shouted, struggling in his hands. “No! You don’t! You don’t know!! He’s dead! He’s dead because of me, and I can’t… I can’t stop! I have to find the answers! I can’t let myself forget that I stopped because I was tired!!” The tears that poured down her cheeks burned like acid, like the bitterness in her heart, and she wanted so to scream, but the need, the need for that vial was overwhelming. “I can’t stop! I have to find the answers! People die when I stop trying to find the answers! I have to find them! I have to be perfect, I have to… I have to…”
There was no sympathy in the dark eyes… but there was understanding. “You take too much upon yourself, Miss Granger,” he said quietly. He held up the vial. “You need to take this. You, of all people, should know that you cannot simply stop taking Navitas Animus. You have to been weaned off of it. No wonder you are in such poor shape. What would you have done, had I not found you?” He held the vial to her lips, staring into her eyes challengingly.
She held her lips stubbornly closed, though her body was crying out so desperately for that liquid, for the fire that would flow down along her bones, like a lover’s caress, and the way the fatigue and pain would melt away, making her feel alive again, alive, and brave, and like she knew all the answers. It was so much easier to find the answers when she was on the potion. Gods, how easy it was. Her mind would snap and sparkle, she could make cognitive leaps that were dazzling, entire pages of information stored in her memory immediately accessible… except the potion had stopped working. It took more, and more, and more to get the same effects… and it never lasted as long. When she was on, she was happy, she was bright, she was like her old self. No. She was better than her old self. She was positively brilliant when she was on, except, she was losing weight, because she never wanted to eat, and she was getting dark circles under her eyes, because she rarely slept, so tanked on the false energy of the potion, unable to sleep, unable to stop moving, unable to think clearly unless she’d just taken it, and the periods of lucidity, of the incredible surge of energy, bravery, and strength getting shorter and shorter until she was drinking it nearly constantly, keeping it in a flask on her hip. Harry had teased her about taking a page from Mad-Eye Moody’s book, and she had laughed when he said, “You’re not taking Polyjuice on the sly, are you?”
“Miss Granger, you will take this potion. I am not going to go up and tell Minerva McGonagall that her librarian and favorite pupil is dying because of sheer obstinacy and stupidity.”
At that, something sparked in Hermione’s eyes, and she opened her mouth. Snape poured the potion into her mouth, urging her to swallow and watched as she closed her eyes, watched and knew the warmth that was flowing down her throat, the relief from just having it in her system again. It no longer worked. She could no longer get the benefit from it that it was made for, to allow the user to stay awake for extended periods, increasing mental acuity, giving energy and strength to finish tasks, bravery to face difficult situations… heavens knew Hermione Granger had had such great need of such a thing. But it was never meant to be taken for such a long time, and it could become toxic, turning on the person unlucky enough to become addicted. And Hermione was skating the edge of death.
At first, Hermione smiled with relief, sighing as it crackled into her blood, as her cramped muscles relaxed, everything was golden, humming, it was good, she could do this, she was fine now, what a lot of fuss over nothing… and then it started. She sat up, eyes wild as every neuron in her brain began to fire off, memories too chaotic to follow exploding into her mind, and Hermione Granger screamed. The tall dark man sitting next to her grabbed her, pinning her arms to her sides, laying down on top of her as her body flailed, and she screamed incoherently, wild magic sputtering and dying around the heavily warded room, absorbed by the huge buffers he and Professor Flitwick had placed in every corner and along the ceiling and floor. “Ron!!” she screamed. “Ron, don’t go! Don’t go! He’s waiting for you… Harry, please, he’s not dead, he’s not dead, I know he’s not dead… no, no, not telling you, never telling you, you foul, pathetic little cockroach!! Aah, aah, no, no, not the … please, don’t hurt him any more, I’ll do anything… no, not in those books, wait, Madame Pince, don’t touch those books!! It’s a trap, no, no!! No…” and on and on, as Hermione relived all the worst moments of the last four years, screaming and babbling, and Severus Snape held her, keeping her from hurting herself. He held her, biting back his own grief and horrible memories, until finally, she was still, and quiet, hiccupping softly with lingering soft sobs.
“Miss Granger?”
“Will this… ever… stop?” she asked, her small frame shuddering.
“Yes. It’s only been so hard because you tried to stop so abruptly.” He released her and sat up, straightening his robes. “One must be weaned from Navitas Animus gradually, Miss Granger. Stopping so suddenly is a shock to the system, and your body starts craving it even more. It becomes self-defeating to stop at that point.”
She lay still, panting softly, and he watched her, his face neutral again. “And you… know all… about that… is that right?”
“Yes,” he said solemnly. “I, too, was once addicted to Navitas Animus.”
“I… find that… hard to believe.” And she did. Surely a Potions Master, of all people, would know the hazards of that potion, the memory enhancing, energizing potion that gave its users that extra daring to allow them to perform difficult tasks, giving them the confidence to do what they normally could not. Surely he would know the pitfalls, and be able to avoid them. She must have said that part aloud, because he was answering her.
“I, too, have been young and foolish, and over confident in my own willpower.” He smiled grimly. “I, too, have been caught in the midst of enemies, having to watch my every move, walking a tightrope so narrow that there was no possibility of recovery from any missteps. Navitas Animus kept me sharp, kept me focused, and allowed me to stay one step ahead of the Death Eaters.”
“What happened?” Hermione focused tightly on his words, ignoring the pain that was beginning again, all too soon, drawing her belly in tight, making her entire body just hurt. As long as she focused on his words… maybe she could bear this.
“I was most fortunate. Harry Potter happened.” His mouth twisted in a bitter line. “The Dark Lord disappeared, and his followers disbanded or were arrested. I was most fortunate. There was someone who had been watching me, waiting, knowing what was going to happen to me.” He sighed, looking down at his hands. “I am sure you can guess who that was.”
“Professor Dumbledore,” she breathed.
“Yes.” His eyes flicked back up to her face, bitter, uncompromising, and angry. “He knew what was coming, and he confronted me. Told me he wasn’t ready to lose the boy he’d fought for to something so…inconsequential, and such a pale, unimpressive shade of lilac.”
Hermione frowned. “Inconsequential??”
Severus smirked. “That was the Headmaster’s way of saying it could be beaten. That I could overcome it.” He looked back at his hands. “And I did, with his help. He never left my side throughout the entire six months that it took to wean me off of it.”
“Six months??” Hermione was dismayed.
“It may take longer for you, Miss Granger, thanks to your misguided efforts to rid yourself of this addiction,” he said. Four years ago, she would have said his attitude was sarcastic, cutting, and smugly satisfied, but now, she knew him better, and recognized the anxiety, and compassion hidden behind the biting tone. “It depends upon how well you can keep to the schedule I set for you.” He watched her as the tremors slowly eased up, and her breathing slowed to a more normal rate. “Better?”
She nodded, not really having the energy for more.
He watched her a moment longer, then turned to the tray again, lifting another vial.
“What is that?”
“This one will clear your system of the toxins caused by your withdrawals.” He handed it to her and waited calmly until she sat up enough to knock it back. He took it and set it back on the tray, then picked up another. “This one will get rid of the block that has been keeping your body’s own endorphins from helping you fight the pain.”
She blinked, but took that one too, and sighed when something in her released, and she finally felt like she could relax. He nodded, then handed her a third. “And that?”
He grimaced. “A nutrient potion. You’re severely depleted. Not eating causes its own damage, Miss Granger.”
She didn’t say anything, knocking that potion back so it wouldn’t hit her tongue. It was vile as most nutrient potions were, and she grimaced before handing the little glass tube back. Not eating, what a joke. That was the hell of that damned potion. It made you forget the most vital things. It gave with one hand and took away with the other. It made you remember the most incredible things with the most amazing detail, like a page of an illuminated text you once saw on a visit to a monastery when you were seven years old, but it made you forget something basic like… eating. Brushing your teeth. Blinking on a regular basis. You would become trapped in the complexities of a spider’s web, staring as it was built, and admiring it long after the spider had abandoned it, entirely forgetting to do things like drink water, eat food, sleep, exist… breathe. It was very subtle, lulling you into a sense of control, that you could stop anytime, that you knew what you were doing, that you would stop soon, you just needed to finish this research, this bit of reading, go on this mission, put this spell together, research that potion… it was never ending. It could make you forget everything and nothing. It could make you forget someone you’d loved… and lost…
Hermione jerked, and sat up all the way, wrapping her arms around herself.
“Miss Granger?”
“I’ll do it.” She looked up at him, startled to realize he was standing next to the bed. Bed? When had she gotten on a bed? There was a bed in here?
“Miss Granger!” She blinked and stared at him. “Are you with me?”
“Yes,” she said, frowning and forcing herself to concentrate on his beak of a nose. She was already slipping away again, forgetting, losing herself in the maze of her mind. “Yes, I’m here. I’ll do it, Professor. I’ll do it your way.”
“It won’t be easy,” he said, his dark eyes glittering in the light cast by the fire on the hearth. “You’ll have to stay in these rooms, at least until you have control over your magic again. And you’ll have to take strictly regimented doses of Navitas Animus. Doses that will be decreasing incrementally on a daily basis. Do you understand?”
It was getting harder and harder to focus, but she forced herself to do it, staring into those black, black eyes. “Yes, I understand. The doses will be decreasing in small increments every day.”
“Yes.” He withdrew something from his pocket. A small orb on a chain, which he hung around her neck. “This will let me know of your condition at all times. Should you be in any distress at any time, all you have to do is grasp the globe in your hand and squeeze it. I will come as soon as I can.”
Hermione nodded. It galled her in a way, to have to depend on this man to help her, and yet… who better? Who else would understand what she was going through? Who else could really help her? “Okay,” she said haltingly so he would know she understood. It was like thinking through mud now. The potion was having the opposite effect now, stealing her mind from her, and it made her want to weep, to rail against the Fates, to scream, to…
A hand closed over hers where it was fisting in her robes. “It will get easier, Miss Granger.” Snape was watching her. “You will get through this.”
“I… I hope so.” Already, far back in her mind, a memory was beckoning to her, an elusive glimpse of a tall man with red hair, bright blue eyes, and freckles. But even as she turned to look at him, he slipped away, and though she longed to run after him, to find him in the mazes of her mind, the harsh squeeze on her hand brought her back. She looked up. His eyes were actually sad.
“That way lies madness, Hermione,” Snape said softly. “Let him go.”
“But…”
“Let him go.”
She closed her eyes. He was right. Hermione let go of the mysterious red-haired man, let his memory slip through her fingers unsifted, and looked back up at Snape. “I’m glad you found me.”
For the first time a genuine smile turned up the corners of his mouth ever so slightly. It was faint, and unpracticed, but there. “Of all the irritating Gryffindors it could have been, it had to be the most irritating one of all. You were most fortunate that I chose that day to replenish my supply of Harpy tongues.” He picked up the tray and went to the door, opening it and stepping out to return with another tray, this one laid with tea things.
“Is it tea time?” she asked stupidly.
He studied her thin face sadly, then smiled, and this one, had she had the wit to appreciate it, would have broken her heart. “Yes, Hermione. It’s tea time.” He would not bother to tell her it was after midnight, and that she had spent most of her day in screaming fits, convulsing, and clawing at herself and anyone who dared come near her, smashing the summoning orb he’d given her the previous day. That he had stunned her over, and over again, just so he could bind the injuries she’d inflicted upon herself. He would not tell her she’d been here over six months already, that St. Mungo’s had already written her off as hopeless, but if Albus Dumbledore had taught him anything, it was that once you decided someone was worth it, there was no telling what you could achieve. She was better. It was slow, and it might be another six months before they were even close to being out of the woods, but her lucid periods were lasting longer, and longer. He sighed, watching her pick up the cup of tea and stare into it, unable to remember what it was for or what to do with it. “Drink, Hermione,” he said softly. Yes. Where there was life, there was hope. And for Albus’ sake… he would hope.
Author: auntbijou
Rating: PG
Pairing: Hermione/Snape, but don’t get excited. No sex, no smut
Summary: Muggles aren’t the only ones who suffer addiction.
Warning: Potions addiction, withdrawals, memory loss. And because of DH, it’s definitely AU.
Words: 3,403
Disclaimer: This is J.K. Rowling’s universe. I just like to play in it and twist things around.
A/N: No sex, no smut, folks, just a “what if” that had chased me around for a long time before I finally wrote about it. I never found a place to post it, aside from my own journal, but now, I think it will fit just fine here.
The clock was ticking so very, very slowly. And very, very loudly. Every second counted like a heavy, slow dropping lead weight, falling through oil, and every slow, solid tick reverberated through her skull, echoing through her mind, running over her skin and making it tighten and crawl with nerves, making her hair hurt, like it was so many tiny needles being shoved into her scalp. It ached along her bones, along her nerves, along her skin, along her soul, an unbearable craving, a need, a want so hard, so painful, and she sat on the floor, knees under her chin, arms wrapped around her legs as she stared at the clock, counting off the seconds of her life, of her need, of her addiction…
With a soft sob, Hermione pressed her forehead into her knees, closing her eyes, rocking slightly as she fought, and fought, and fought. Don’t need it, don’t need it, don’t want it, don’t need it, she chanted to herself. I can do this, I can do this, just get through the next five minutes, and I can do this. Five more minutes, I can do this for five more minutes…I can do this…
She called on the strength that had gotten her through the war, through the deaths of her parents, her friends, through the disappointments, the anger, gotten her through imprisonment in the cells below the Dark Lord’s stronghold, and a subsequent escape, gotten her through battles that still gave her nightmares…strength and stubbornness, sheer force of will… something in her laughed bitterly. But was that all really you? asked that something. Something that sounded too much like the bossy know-it-all from her first year at Hogwarts. Smug, superior, too smart for her own good… she clenched her fists, and rocked harder. No, she was going to do this, and if she had to do it five minutes at a time…
Footsteps moving down the corridor made her stop and look up. Was it that time already? No! No, she could last longer! It wasn’t time! No, not yet! But now that she had been forced to notice externals, she became aware that her body was shaking, and dripping with sweat, despite the cool temperature down here in the dungeons. And her belly was cramping with need, her lungs on fire, her skin crawling and itching, and once again, there were handfuls of hair on the floor around her, testament to the fact she had been pulling it out without noticing during her withdrawals. The door clicked open, and he walked in, tray in hand, looking at her with a neutral expression on his face. “Miss Granger?”
“I’m quite all right,” she nearly snarled. “Just… just leave me alone. And… take that shit away.”
He said nothing, setting the tray down on a little table before walking to the fireplace and kneeling to light the fire by hand. One of the reasons she was isolated down here in Hogwarts’ dungeons was to keep her away from magic. No magic could be used around her while she was fighting this. Once he had gotten a good fire going, he got up and went back to the tray. He lifted a vial of a pale purple liquid. “It is time for your dose, Miss Granger.”
Hermione refused to look at him, staring instead at her hands. Gods, what had happened to her hands? They were nail-bitten, down past the quick, bloody from being gnawed, picked, and pulled, little shreds of skin standing up on the tips… she blinked in horror and looked back up. “Professor Snape… what’s happening to me?” she asked, a quaver in her voice.
“Miss Granger,” he said softly. “You are addicted to Navitas Animus. You’re fighting it… do you not remember?”
She frowned, trying so hard to think through the noise in her head, which was growing louder and louder. It wasn’t that she was hearing voices so much as hearing her body clamoring for that slender vial her former Potions professor was holding in his long, stained fingers. That pale purple potion that would taste of the way wisteria smelled in the spring, wisteria and moonflowers and violets, and the way it crackled across the tongue as it went down, because of the rain water that had to be collected during the worst of a violent electrical storm, supercharged water that literally glowed with the lightning that had charged it, and how it seemed to flow through her body so smooth, like the honey that someone, someone whose face she was very carefully blanking from her mind, someone liked to pour over her skin and lick off so gently, and slowly, driving her into desperation… she clenched her fists and began to strike her own head, sobbing.
“Miss Granger. Miss Granger, please…” and large hands were catching her wrists, holding them firmly. “Please, you cannot do this to yourself. I know… I know it hurts…”
“No!” she shouted, struggling in his hands. “No! You don’t! You don’t know!! He’s dead! He’s dead because of me, and I can’t… I can’t stop! I have to find the answers! I can’t let myself forget that I stopped because I was tired!!” The tears that poured down her cheeks burned like acid, like the bitterness in her heart, and she wanted so to scream, but the need, the need for that vial was overwhelming. “I can’t stop! I have to find the answers! People die when I stop trying to find the answers! I have to find them! I have to be perfect, I have to… I have to…”
There was no sympathy in the dark eyes… but there was understanding. “You take too much upon yourself, Miss Granger,” he said quietly. He held up the vial. “You need to take this. You, of all people, should know that you cannot simply stop taking Navitas Animus. You have to been weaned off of it. No wonder you are in such poor shape. What would you have done, had I not found you?” He held the vial to her lips, staring into her eyes challengingly.
She held her lips stubbornly closed, though her body was crying out so desperately for that liquid, for the fire that would flow down along her bones, like a lover’s caress, and the way the fatigue and pain would melt away, making her feel alive again, alive, and brave, and like she knew all the answers. It was so much easier to find the answers when she was on the potion. Gods, how easy it was. Her mind would snap and sparkle, she could make cognitive leaps that were dazzling, entire pages of information stored in her memory immediately accessible… except the potion had stopped working. It took more, and more, and more to get the same effects… and it never lasted as long. When she was on, she was happy, she was bright, she was like her old self. No. She was better than her old self. She was positively brilliant when she was on, except, she was losing weight, because she never wanted to eat, and she was getting dark circles under her eyes, because she rarely slept, so tanked on the false energy of the potion, unable to sleep, unable to stop moving, unable to think clearly unless she’d just taken it, and the periods of lucidity, of the incredible surge of energy, bravery, and strength getting shorter and shorter until she was drinking it nearly constantly, keeping it in a flask on her hip. Harry had teased her about taking a page from Mad-Eye Moody’s book, and she had laughed when he said, “You’re not taking Polyjuice on the sly, are you?”
“Miss Granger, you will take this potion. I am not going to go up and tell Minerva McGonagall that her librarian and favorite pupil is dying because of sheer obstinacy and stupidity.”
At that, something sparked in Hermione’s eyes, and she opened her mouth. Snape poured the potion into her mouth, urging her to swallow and watched as she closed her eyes, watched and knew the warmth that was flowing down her throat, the relief from just having it in her system again. It no longer worked. She could no longer get the benefit from it that it was made for, to allow the user to stay awake for extended periods, increasing mental acuity, giving energy and strength to finish tasks, bravery to face difficult situations… heavens knew Hermione Granger had had such great need of such a thing. But it was never meant to be taken for such a long time, and it could become toxic, turning on the person unlucky enough to become addicted. And Hermione was skating the edge of death.
At first, Hermione smiled with relief, sighing as it crackled into her blood, as her cramped muscles relaxed, everything was golden, humming, it was good, she could do this, she was fine now, what a lot of fuss over nothing… and then it started. She sat up, eyes wild as every neuron in her brain began to fire off, memories too chaotic to follow exploding into her mind, and Hermione Granger screamed. The tall dark man sitting next to her grabbed her, pinning her arms to her sides, laying down on top of her as her body flailed, and she screamed incoherently, wild magic sputtering and dying around the heavily warded room, absorbed by the huge buffers he and Professor Flitwick had placed in every corner and along the ceiling and floor. “Ron!!” she screamed. “Ron, don’t go! Don’t go! He’s waiting for you… Harry, please, he’s not dead, he’s not dead, I know he’s not dead… no, no, not telling you, never telling you, you foul, pathetic little cockroach!! Aah, aah, no, no, not the … please, don’t hurt him any more, I’ll do anything… no, not in those books, wait, Madame Pince, don’t touch those books!! It’s a trap, no, no!! No…” and on and on, as Hermione relived all the worst moments of the last four years, screaming and babbling, and Severus Snape held her, keeping her from hurting herself. He held her, biting back his own grief and horrible memories, until finally, she was still, and quiet, hiccupping softly with lingering soft sobs.
“Miss Granger?”
“Will this… ever… stop?” she asked, her small frame shuddering.
“Yes. It’s only been so hard because you tried to stop so abruptly.” He released her and sat up, straightening his robes. “One must be weaned from Navitas Animus gradually, Miss Granger. Stopping so suddenly is a shock to the system, and your body starts craving it even more. It becomes self-defeating to stop at that point.”
She lay still, panting softly, and he watched her, his face neutral again. “And you… know all… about that… is that right?”
“Yes,” he said solemnly. “I, too, was once addicted to Navitas Animus.”
“I… find that… hard to believe.” And she did. Surely a Potions Master, of all people, would know the hazards of that potion, the memory enhancing, energizing potion that gave its users that extra daring to allow them to perform difficult tasks, giving them the confidence to do what they normally could not. Surely he would know the pitfalls, and be able to avoid them. She must have said that part aloud, because he was answering her.
“I, too, have been young and foolish, and over confident in my own willpower.” He smiled grimly. “I, too, have been caught in the midst of enemies, having to watch my every move, walking a tightrope so narrow that there was no possibility of recovery from any missteps. Navitas Animus kept me sharp, kept me focused, and allowed me to stay one step ahead of the Death Eaters.”
“What happened?” Hermione focused tightly on his words, ignoring the pain that was beginning again, all too soon, drawing her belly in tight, making her entire body just hurt. As long as she focused on his words… maybe she could bear this.
“I was most fortunate. Harry Potter happened.” His mouth twisted in a bitter line. “The Dark Lord disappeared, and his followers disbanded or were arrested. I was most fortunate. There was someone who had been watching me, waiting, knowing what was going to happen to me.” He sighed, looking down at his hands. “I am sure you can guess who that was.”
“Professor Dumbledore,” she breathed.
“Yes.” His eyes flicked back up to her face, bitter, uncompromising, and angry. “He knew what was coming, and he confronted me. Told me he wasn’t ready to lose the boy he’d fought for to something so…inconsequential, and such a pale, unimpressive shade of lilac.”
Hermione frowned. “Inconsequential??”
Severus smirked. “That was the Headmaster’s way of saying it could be beaten. That I could overcome it.” He looked back at his hands. “And I did, with his help. He never left my side throughout the entire six months that it took to wean me off of it.”
“Six months??” Hermione was dismayed.
“It may take longer for you, Miss Granger, thanks to your misguided efforts to rid yourself of this addiction,” he said. Four years ago, she would have said his attitude was sarcastic, cutting, and smugly satisfied, but now, she knew him better, and recognized the anxiety, and compassion hidden behind the biting tone. “It depends upon how well you can keep to the schedule I set for you.” He watched her as the tremors slowly eased up, and her breathing slowed to a more normal rate. “Better?”
She nodded, not really having the energy for more.
He watched her a moment longer, then turned to the tray again, lifting another vial.
“What is that?”
“This one will clear your system of the toxins caused by your withdrawals.” He handed it to her and waited calmly until she sat up enough to knock it back. He took it and set it back on the tray, then picked up another. “This one will get rid of the block that has been keeping your body’s own endorphins from helping you fight the pain.”
She blinked, but took that one too, and sighed when something in her released, and she finally felt like she could relax. He nodded, then handed her a third. “And that?”
He grimaced. “A nutrient potion. You’re severely depleted. Not eating causes its own damage, Miss Granger.”
She didn’t say anything, knocking that potion back so it wouldn’t hit her tongue. It was vile as most nutrient potions were, and she grimaced before handing the little glass tube back. Not eating, what a joke. That was the hell of that damned potion. It made you forget the most vital things. It gave with one hand and took away with the other. It made you remember the most incredible things with the most amazing detail, like a page of an illuminated text you once saw on a visit to a monastery when you were seven years old, but it made you forget something basic like… eating. Brushing your teeth. Blinking on a regular basis. You would become trapped in the complexities of a spider’s web, staring as it was built, and admiring it long after the spider had abandoned it, entirely forgetting to do things like drink water, eat food, sleep, exist… breathe. It was very subtle, lulling you into a sense of control, that you could stop anytime, that you knew what you were doing, that you would stop soon, you just needed to finish this research, this bit of reading, go on this mission, put this spell together, research that potion… it was never ending. It could make you forget everything and nothing. It could make you forget someone you’d loved… and lost…
Hermione jerked, and sat up all the way, wrapping her arms around herself.
“Miss Granger?”
“I’ll do it.” She looked up at him, startled to realize he was standing next to the bed. Bed? When had she gotten on a bed? There was a bed in here?
“Miss Granger!” She blinked and stared at him. “Are you with me?”
“Yes,” she said, frowning and forcing herself to concentrate on his beak of a nose. She was already slipping away again, forgetting, losing herself in the maze of her mind. “Yes, I’m here. I’ll do it, Professor. I’ll do it your way.”
“It won’t be easy,” he said, his dark eyes glittering in the light cast by the fire on the hearth. “You’ll have to stay in these rooms, at least until you have control over your magic again. And you’ll have to take strictly regimented doses of Navitas Animus. Doses that will be decreasing incrementally on a daily basis. Do you understand?”
It was getting harder and harder to focus, but she forced herself to do it, staring into those black, black eyes. “Yes, I understand. The doses will be decreasing in small increments every day.”
“Yes.” He withdrew something from his pocket. A small orb on a chain, which he hung around her neck. “This will let me know of your condition at all times. Should you be in any distress at any time, all you have to do is grasp the globe in your hand and squeeze it. I will come as soon as I can.”
Hermione nodded. It galled her in a way, to have to depend on this man to help her, and yet… who better? Who else would understand what she was going through? Who else could really help her? “Okay,” she said haltingly so he would know she understood. It was like thinking through mud now. The potion was having the opposite effect now, stealing her mind from her, and it made her want to weep, to rail against the Fates, to scream, to…
A hand closed over hers where it was fisting in her robes. “It will get easier, Miss Granger.” Snape was watching her. “You will get through this.”
“I… I hope so.” Already, far back in her mind, a memory was beckoning to her, an elusive glimpse of a tall man with red hair, bright blue eyes, and freckles. But even as she turned to look at him, he slipped away, and though she longed to run after him, to find him in the mazes of her mind, the harsh squeeze on her hand brought her back. She looked up. His eyes were actually sad.
“That way lies madness, Hermione,” Snape said softly. “Let him go.”
“But…”
“Let him go.”
She closed her eyes. He was right. Hermione let go of the mysterious red-haired man, let his memory slip through her fingers unsifted, and looked back up at Snape. “I’m glad you found me.”
For the first time a genuine smile turned up the corners of his mouth ever so slightly. It was faint, and unpracticed, but there. “Of all the irritating Gryffindors it could have been, it had to be the most irritating one of all. You were most fortunate that I chose that day to replenish my supply of Harpy tongues.” He picked up the tray and went to the door, opening it and stepping out to return with another tray, this one laid with tea things.
“Is it tea time?” she asked stupidly.
He studied her thin face sadly, then smiled, and this one, had she had the wit to appreciate it, would have broken her heart. “Yes, Hermione. It’s tea time.” He would not bother to tell her it was after midnight, and that she had spent most of her day in screaming fits, convulsing, and clawing at herself and anyone who dared come near her, smashing the summoning orb he’d given her the previous day. That he had stunned her over, and over again, just so he could bind the injuries she’d inflicted upon herself. He would not tell her she’d been here over six months already, that St. Mungo’s had already written her off as hopeless, but if Albus Dumbledore had taught him anything, it was that once you decided someone was worth it, there was no telling what you could achieve. She was better. It was slow, and it might be another six months before they were even close to being out of the woods, but her lucid periods were lasting longer, and longer. He sighed, watching her pick up the cup of tea and stare into it, unable to remember what it was for or what to do with it. “Drink, Hermione,” he said softly. Yes. Where there was life, there was hope. And for Albus’ sake… he would hope.