Forgotten?

“Harry . . .”

“Yes, Mione?” he said, shuffling up.

It pained her to see his prematurely lined face, just like Sirius had before he was killed. Except an inane smile stretched Harry’s hollow cheeks. In his head, he had managed to get everything ‘Just like Old Times’. It was heartbreaking.

Hermione had come, tried to help him. Harry had become reclusive after the war, which was unsurprising. Hermione had gone to see him, be a shoulder to cry on, help him to move on. She remembered once again . . .

The doorbell to Grimmauld place had rung for what seemed like years. Then she had heard the footsteps, and a husky, muffled voice.

“What Hippogriff did the two of us save in our third year?”

“Buckbeak, but Harry – ”

“Where did you find Scabbers in that year?”

“At Hagrid’s house, in the – ”

The door had opened suddenly, before she could finish.

“Quick,” Harry hissed. He was unshaven, thin, and his robes were hanging off his unnaturally thin frame. His school robes. Hermione remembered holding back a gasp as she realised with a jolt of pain that he was in a far worse state than she had feared. He noticed nothing of her startled reaction to his appearance. His eyes were busy scanning the street.

“In,” he continued. “Before they come.”

Who exactly they were though, she was not told.

--

“Do you think that maybe I could go to the Black Library, on the third floor, today, Harry?”

She had asked before, many times, and always received the same answer.

“No. It’s too risky.”

“Why?” She asked, as usual.

“I can’t watch over you, protect you, in a library. Too many distractions.”

Distracting memories, she presumed. And the possibility that she would leave was not to be allowed. She was trapped here. She needed to leave there for both their sakes, to get him help which he didn’t even realise he needed. Poor Harry. This behaviour was not normal. Neither were the circumstances.

“So how are you, Harry?” she had asked, deciding to leave the issue of the robes for another time, and to instead sound out his mental state.

“Good thanks, ‘Mione,” he began, in a normal tone of voice. Then his eyes grew haunted, and a frown formed on is features.

“ . . . Just . . . You-Know-Who. He’s hunting me. They’re all hunting me!” he whispered urgently.

“They want to kill me, you know,” he added, conversational once more.

Hermione gulped. Since when did Harry refer to Voldemort as You-Know-Who?

“Harry, they don’t want to kill you, they can’t they’re all dead! Don’t worry, they’re dead and buried now.”

“Exactly!” he exclaimed. “That’s why they want to kill me! Can’t you hear them? Moaning, threatening me and my own, angry and vicious. Talking, taunting, teasing. Can’t you hear them? ‘Just beyond the veil’. ‘Just beyond the veil’.”

He broke down as they entered the Dining room. She held him until he exhausted his sobs, racking wails of pain. Disturbed he may be, but he was her friend. At first, she couldn’t bring herself to leave him alone, even for just an hour whilst she got help. Then, he wouldn’t let her.

--

“Harry, do you think that I should go shopping for food?” she asked one day. It had been a month, maybe. The monotony merged the days.

“No. No, no, no. The House Elves make the food. Besides, term hasn’t ended. You would get into trouble.”

“Harry – ”

“It’s getting worse. The noises are getting louder. I can’t let them take you. Not you, not as well.”

Hermione sighed. The first night, he had placed her in a normal room. The next, he had dormitories organised for her. He had been living in his imitation dorms since his return after the war, she presumed. After the third day, he took her wand ‘for safe keeping’ whilst she was asleep. She went to the library to research wandless magic, after her protestations had fallen on deaf ears, and the next day had found the library locked by magic.

--

“Mione, come to the Great Hall.”

And so came her regular wake up call for breakfast. Joy.

“I don’t feel very well today, Harry.”

“You’re ill? No. No! You can’t be ill! Did he? He must have . . . No!”

“It’s just a cold, Harry, reassured Hermione, as she realised that Harry was under the impression that Voldemort was influencing her health from beyond the grave. “All the same, I think I’m too ill for school.”

“I’ll watch over you.”

She had her reply prepared.

“But Harry, what about the teachers? They’ll be so angry! And you don’t want a detention. Come and check on me at break.”

“No . . .”

“Harry, I don’t want you in trouble because of me.”

“Well . . . all right, then. But you promise to get better?”

“I promise.”

He locked the door as he left, but she had been expecting that.

Hermione had seen many things whilst she had been in the house. She had seen Luna come to the door a few times, asking for Hermione. She had been left there, standing patiently. Eventually, she had seen Harry push a note under the door. Hermione had seen Luna leave, pacified by whatever Harry had scrawled. Hermione had seen the locking charm upon all the doors, the places she could not go, be reinforced diligently, nothing that a careful Alohomora couldn’t fix. She had seen the mountains of letters arrive, flown by concerned owls. She had seen the satiated, crackling fire. And she had wept in despair. She had wanted to be a Healer, but Harry’s condition was beyond her power to repair.

--

Hermione had clung onto the idea of wandless magic, but it was pitiful in practise, useful only for a novelty. She could not even open a door. Two months into her ordeal, she had an idea.

“Wobby!”

A Free Elf, one year old offspring of Winky and Dobby (they weren’t very imaginative when it came to names), she was both extremely keen to serve, and extremely clever, which was very useful. She had been born during the war and had had to grow up quickly.

With a crack, Wobby had apparated to her room, in the dead of night, locked as it always was. The Dobby family had settled in Hermione and Luna’s shared flat in London.

“Miss Granger!” the elf exclaimed breathily. “Is you all right?”

“Yes, well, hardly. Thankyou for coming, Wobby. And I’ve told you; you do not need to call me Miss Granger. Hermione will do. As a favour, would you be able to bring me something that would help me to get out of here?”

Wobby thought.

“But Miss Hermione can come with me!” proclaimed the Elf, who was dressed in a shrunken Weird Sisters tee shirt and striped shorts. Elf fashion had improved considerably since her incarceration. She was nodding her head fervently, which Hermione was becoming increasingly worried about. Wobby had not yet grown into her ears (insofar as House Elves do grow into their ears), and hovering House Elves was an unwanted development.

“Side along Apparition?”

“Yes, miss.” Wobby offered an eager arm, and stopped nodding to smile at Hermione.

“Thankyou very much Wobby, but I need to prepare. Could you perhaps come by next Monday at 10:00? And, if its not too much trouble, bring a piece of parchment and a quill?”

“Wobby would be delighted to, Miss Hermione.”

“Hermione. It’s just Hermione. Goodnight, Wobby.”

“Goodnight . . . Hermione.”

--

She hurried with getting dressed (Harry had let her conjure clothes, in those first few days), and then lay in bed lest he check on her suddenly.

Wobby apparated and Hermione discarded her covers.

“Thankyou, Wobby. Would it be okay if I just wrote this quickly?”

“Of course, Miss”

“Hermione”

“Miss Hermione?”

“I think that’ll do for now”

“Harry,

Guess what? I’ve been picked to go on a school trip to St Mungo’s. It’s indefinite, depending on what they will show us. Owl me, and I’ll tell you all about it! It’s perfectly safe, as Professor McGonnagal herself is supervising.

Love

Hermione”

She left it on the pillow and Apparated away.

--

“Hello?”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I . . . er . . . well, I’d like to apply to become an apprentice Healer.”

“Apprentice applications were due in exactly four weeks ago, love.”

“But I . . . look, can I speak to the Head Healer?”

“Do you have an appointment? He’s a very busy man, you know.”

“Of course I don’t have an appointment! I – ”

“I’ll take over here, Martha.”

“Of course, sir,” the hag said. “Next!” she called at the reception desk, as Severus Snape steered Hermione away.

“What are you doing here?” Hermione exclaimed.

“I work here. Same question to you.”

“I want to work here.”

“In that case, you are rather late, and since you are no longer at school missing deadlines incurs more than just a detention.”

“I am well aware of that, but – ”

“I cannot wait to hear your explanation, Miss Granger, I assure you.”

“I was . . . staying with an unwell friend.”

“Hence your inability to do anything? No balls, none of the press conferences, none of the victory celebrations. Not even capable of handing in a job application. And now you come crawling here, hoping that the fact I used to teach you will grant you some sort of miracle job vacancy that I will create out of thin air, just for you. The world no longer panders to the Golden Trio’s every wish, Miss Granger. Besides, even as Head Healer, I cannot make any jobs available for you. Why did you not come earlier?” he said, looking angry and frustrated.

Hermione could not think what to say.

“You’re Head Healer?”

“You’re applying for a job and you don’t know who your superior would have been?”

“I knew that the previous Head Healer had died helping others in the war. I expected that Augustus Pye – ”

“For heaven’s sake, girl, where have you been? Pye is Minister of Magic.”

“ . . .He is?” she stuttered.

“Yes. Dearest Potter failed to respond to the invitation. McGonnagal had retired. So Pye was taken from his new position as Head Healer and is doing a remarkable job.”

“Oh.”

“And then I was invited to assume the post of Head Healer.”

“Oh.”

“Miss Granger, how can you not know these things? Where were you? Miss Lovegood said that you were unwell and in the care of a friend, but even drastically ill people can read the Prophet. You must have been completely isolated from the outside world. How ill were you?”

“He said I was unwell?”

“Who?”

“No-one”

“Potter”

“N-yes”

Snape had led her to his roomy office upon the first floor. She sank into a chair.

“I went round to his house. I thought we could comfort each other. Of course, it was much worse for him than it was for me. Ron gone. Ginny. All of the Weasleys. His parents. He had nobody but me. And he seemed . . . he seemed to want to protect me from being killed as well.”

“So what, he incarcerated you?”

“Pretty much. I was wandless.”

“Arrogant bastard!” Snape exclaimed, looking as though he would quite like to hit something.

“He’s worse than James. Does he think that he was the only person to have lost others during the war?”

“It’s not his fault! He’s not just depressed; it’s more than that. I think he’s been jinxed, or something. You should see Grimmauld Place. We have points hourglasses. He wears his robes. His school robes. There are dormitories. The dining room is now the Great Hall. The teachers in the classrooms are always so quiet, though Harry seems to be able to hear them and to see them.”

“Hmm. A failed Imperius. Much like Crouch Senior had.”

“Well yes, that’s what I thought, but all the Death Eaters are dead.”

“Yes, but Potter showed some resistance to the curse in his fourth year. I think that he tried to shake off multiple Imperius Curses, as he was about to strike the final blow and kill Voldemort. He managed to kill him, but the curses, fired simultaneously, exhausted his mind as he fought them off.”

“Can it – ”

“I’ll sort him out personally. But first, I need to make sure you’re all right.”

“Oh, no. I’m fine, honestly.”

“Procedure, Miss Granger. Legilimens.”

“No!” she shrieked, blocking his mind from entering hers. This was the one type of magic that a wand was not required for. Occlumency and Legilimency.

“Calm yourself. I am not prying, merely soothing those memories which are hurting you. I am not even going to look at them.”

She nodded, and relaxed into the rather comfy office chair once more, sighing and closing her eyes as she did so. Severus did his magic, watching the tension leave her face, then paused and watched her for a while. There were no more apprenticeships available. Unless . . .

He left her to sleep as he strode purposefully away. He had work to do. Rules to make.

--

Hermione awoke in a hospital bed.

“Good morning, Miss Granger.”

He was sitting, watching her. He had obviously been waiting a while, as his clothes – the same cloak as yesterday, she noticed – were creased, and he was halfway through a large tome about alchemy.

He saw her frown at him, squint at his book, and then glance back into his eyes. He hoped it wasn’t too obvious that he had stayed at St Mungo’s overnight. Beside her bed, to be precise. But he was used to little or no sleep.

“What happened? Why am I here?”

“A profound question, Miss Granger. Broadly, we can only speculate. Scientifically, as a result of your mother’s fertilisation, but as to why you are lying in a hospital bed, because people need rest when their minds have been altered with.”

He fumbled in his robes and offered her a bar of Honeydukes’ best.

“Chocolate always seems to be the best remedy,” she said, accepting it gratefully. She smiled slightly, remembering that Harry never received chocolate after his encounters with the professor during his Occlumency lessons.

“Not all of the time, as you’ll learn. Eat up. Your apprenticeship starts tomorrow and it’s hard work.”

“But I thought – ”

“Head Healers can bend rules. It’s a perk.”

“Thankyou.”

“For the chocolate? Hurry up and eat it; you’ll feel better.”

She unwrapped it and took a bite.

“No, I mean for everything. Would you like some?”

Severus raised an eyebrow, but accepted a square nonetheless. Hermione continued.

“I’ll try my best as a Healer. Thankyou for fitting me in. I thought you said it was impossible?”

“I know. You shall be apprenticed to me.”

“But you’re Head of Healing!”

“Yes, well,” he said, as two spots of pink made an appearance on his cheeks, “Aside from your penchant for stating the blindingly obvious, you show promise. You are well qualified. I was rather disappointed when I did not receive your application. Also, correct me if I’m wrong, you do not yet know which branch of Healing you wish to specialise in. I am qualified to instruct you in all the general aspects and then further your knowledge in the one which interests you the most.”

“Th—Thankyou so much. I didn’t know you were an excellent Healer as well as a potioneer. I hope that I’m not causing you too much trouble.”

“Few do. In addition, I believe you will be a help and not a hindrance. It will also be interesting to teach you when you know little of the subject.”

They both smiled. Hesitantly.

“If you’ll forgive me asking, how did you escape?”

“Wobby, one of the House Elves that lives with Luna and I, helped me out.”

“Ingenious.”

“About Harry. Is he all right?”

“Fine. I have been bombarded with letters from him to you. I’m going over today. Lots of Legilimency will be needed.”

“Legilimency sounds useful. Is it a branch of Healing? I hadn’t read about it . . .”

“Not yet. I was invited to revolutionise as I saw fit. Now I have used Legilimency to aid trauma victims, like the Longbottoms –”

“They’re all right?”

“Yes. Perfectly so.”

“That’s amazing.”

“—And I am hoping to found it as a branch. There are many more uses, for example in breaking Memory Charms.”

“I want to learn that”

“A bit hasty, perhaps. Though you are already a practised Occlumens. I’ll leave you now. You’ll need your rest. And finish that chocolate.”

Fin

So, do you really think I should continue it? Please R+R.

And check out my other stories. They're longer.