Dark Gods in the Blood

Chapter Six

They were dying slowly -- it was very clear. They were not

enemies, they were not criminals, they were nothing earthly

now -- nothing but black shadows of disease and starvation,

lying confusedly in the greenish gloom.

-- Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

Perhaps it was Nicholas Potter's brief recovery from muteness that sent Hermione back to Yorkshire the following week. As she pulled her fingertips back from the Portkey, staggering in the aftermath of the trip, she told herself rather convincingly that it was, not wanting to try and guess about possible deeper motives.

Certainly the outburst had been shocking -- frightening, even. It had taken Françoise no less than an hour to completely calm the child. His scream had escalated quickly into keening, hysterical sobs. Ron, of course, had immediately busied himself with a now squalling Alice, who had decided to join her brother's already deafening cacophony.

For her own part, Hermione just watched.

Nicholas, eventually soothed, was allowed to escape upstairs and Alice was put to bed as her fussing became of a more petulant, sleepy nature. The adults moved to the sitting room, pale and unsettled, sipping at coffee and trying desperately to pretend that the evening had been pleasant.

"I'm sorry," Françoise had attempted to say. "I don't know what got into them tonight."

Shortly after, Hermione left, Apparating back to London and stretching out on the hotel bed. That half-animal, fearful look in Nicholas' eyes hanted her -- she didn't know what to make of it.

What had she done to provoke such a reaction?

In truth, Hermione wasn't even sure that Nicholas knew just exactly who she was. She hadn't introduced herself to him and she had no way of knowing if he'd made the connection on his own.

But that look in his eyes.

Even if it wasn't the entire reason her feet were currently carrying her continually closer to Perkins Hospital for the Mentally Challenged, it was a large part of it.

The receptionist offered her a warm smile as the door clattered open. "Good morning," she said. "I remember your face, miss, but I'm afraid I don't recall your name."

Hermione was oddly gratified at the 'miss.' At thirty-one, she knew she probably didn't have many more years to be addressed as such. "Hermione Granger," she supplied with a pleasant smile. "I'm here to see --"

"Severus Snape," the woman interrupted. "I do remember that much. Poor fellow -- he has so few visitors. You remember what to do?"

Nodding, Hermione toed off her shoes and began emptying out her pockets. She'd actually gone out and bought a thick pair of socks this morning before leaving London, recalling the cold hospital floor tiles with a shiver.

"And your wand, too, my dear," the receptionist reminded her, putting the shoes into a box.

Not five minutes later, she was ushered into the same little room she'd met Snape in before. She noted with some relief that if the tiles were cold today, her feet did not notice it.

He was already seated -- at the exact same table as before, actually. Giving her a curious look, he lifted an eyebrow as she slid into the chair opposite his.

They resumed their staring match from the previous week, a corner of Snape's mouth quirking at what Hermione suspected was a rather sullen scowl on her face. She willed her expression not to change, not wanting to relinquish that small bit of control to him.

Seconds stretched into eternal minutes. Having once again lost track of time, Hermione blinked and broke away from Snape's eerily calm stare.

This was stupid.

The chair scraped loudly against the tiles as she pushed it back in preparation to stand. But Hermione froze in place as Snape actually began to speak.

"I have been thinking," he said matter-of-factly, "about who you are."

Her shock at hearing words come out of his mouth was so great that she found herself actually quite literally unable to form a coherent sentence. Deciding that it would be best not to gibber, she remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

And he did. In that same dry, pedantic set of classroom tones she remembered from a childhood that seemed further away by the second. "I will admit that there is something ... oddly familiar in your appearance," he admitted. "But I doubt that you are one of my infernal cousins. They have not bothered to claim me for more years than I care to count."

Again, she waited quietly as he paused, whether for effect or to breathe, she did not know.

"My conclusion, therefore, is that that fool Cuthrell has sent you in to spy on me. Well, you may tell him that I have no more to say to him than I have previously. Good day to you, madam," he said in a clearly dismissive tone.

She did not know whether to be amused or angry. In the end, her reaction was mixed. "I don't know what you're talking about," she replied coldly, finding her voice finally.

His eyes narrowed. "Do not play me for a simpleton, please. I may be a resident of a mental institution, but that in no way brands me an idiot."

"I never said that you were, sir," she said truthfully.

A fist slammed down on the table suddenly, shades of the Snape she remembered more and more apparent in his behavior. "I will not talk to Cuthrell!"

"Who is Cuthrell?" she asked, trying to placate him with the same calm look he'd been disconcerting her with so effectively before.

"Your employer, I'm sure," he sneered, rearranging his hands on top of the table. "You are casting aspersions on my intellect again, madam."

She stared at him openly, guilelessly. "Truly, sir, I don't know anyone who goes by that name. My name is --"

"I do not care what your name is, you little fool!" he cried, exasperated. "Run away and tell Cuthrell that his games are not working."

"But --" she tried, half-afraid of his irate reaction. This Snape was out-of-control -- if she'd been frightened of him in her youth, it was nothing to what she was feeling in the pit of her stomach right now.

Is he dangerous? she'd asked.

Only to himself, the woman had replied.

Hopefully that was true.

"Get out," he said in a low voice. "Get the fuck out of here!"

Startled by the uncharacteristic expletive, Hermione found herself complying rapidly, beating a hasty retreat and hating the smile on his face as she left.

-- -- -- -- --

Only caring that she was out of that room, Hermione didn't notice the man standing beside the door until she'd actually run into him. Pondering how she'd suddenly gone from standing to sprawled on the ground, the man had to speak before she realized he was there.

"I'm sorry," he said, holding out a hand.

Ignoring it, she pulled herself to her feet. "It's not your fault," she replied. "Actually, I should be the one apologizing -- I ran into you."

"Not at all," he said blandly. "In fact, I ought to be thanking you."

"What for?" she asked, mystified.

The man smiled, highlighting his already handsome features. "I'm Jake Cuthrell."

"Oh ..." she said, considering this. "You're Cuthrell, then. Why is --?"

"Why is Severus so insistent that he not speak with me?" the man -- Cuthrell -- asked, completing her question for her. Another radiant smile -- Hermione was beginning to suspect he was trying to charm her. "I'm his doctor," he said.

"Doctor?" she echoed, hoping he'd elaborate.

He glanced around the corridor with a somewhat furtive look in his eyes, gaze finally coming to rest on the still form of Snape through the window, not moving from his previous position. "Perhaps we should have this discussion in my office."

Frowning, Hermione followed Cuthrell down the hall, through a number of doors. She eventually found herself sitting in a rather uncomfortable wooden chair in a richly paneled office, Cuthrell fixing her with a penetrating gaze from across his desk that only increased her discomfort.

"Right," he said, shuffling a few papers around and plucking out a few apparently pertinent ones. "As I said, I'm Jake Cuthrell, Severus' primary therapist. I know from the records that your name is Hermione Granger, but your relationship to the patient is listed only as 'friend.' If you wouldn't mind ...?" he led.

Shrugging, she stared at his desktop, tracing the whorls in the grain with her eyes. "I knew him many years ago," she said. "When I heard where he was, I just wanted to see him. Dr. Cuthrell --"

"Jake," he supplied warmly.

"Dr. Cuthrell," she repeated firmly. "Would you please tell me what's happened to him? He was always intense, but this ... this ..."

Cuthrell coughed rather self-importantly, giving his papers another good shuffle. "Well, Hermione ..."

Miss Granger! she wanted to shout, voice stuck in her throat.

"Hermione, I'm afraid that Severus is a rather complex case. He's been here for the better part of five years and has spent most of that time steadily refusing treatment."

"Treatment?" she echoed carefully.

Sighing the sigh of one heavily put upon, Cuthrell finally took his hands off the papers and Hermione glanced up to see the martyred expression on his face. "Despite our best efforts, Severus' depression is complete and devastating. We have resigned ourselves to merely preventing his suicide attempts. Of which there have been many."

"He's suicidal, then," Hermione said. Only to himself.

"He was committed involuntarily," Cuthrell explained, "after having swallowed copious amounts of rather painful poisons on no less than four separate occasions. We have not managed to ascertain the reasons for Severus' rather severe depression."

She could not contain her curiosity. "Why not?"

He frowned. "Hermione, Severus Snape has not spoken a dozen words in the last year. Before that, he would talk sporadically but absolutely refused to discuss anything related to his treatment. Fortunately, we no longer have to feed him with an IV."

Hermione gasped, putting her hands to her mouth. She could barely believe what her old professor had come to. Narrowing her eyes, she tried to glare at Cuthrell. "While I appreciate your candor, Dr. Cuthrell," she said. "I confess I do not understand why you are choosing to disclose this obviously sensitive information to me."

With a little chuckle, he resumed rattling papers, pushing several into a manila folder she hadn't noticed under the mess. "You see, Hermione, you are the first person Severus has openly spoken to in five years. I am curious as to why and anything you could do to enlighten me on the subject would be helpful."

Wrinkling her brow in confusion, she considered his words. "I am as confused as you are," she admitted slowly. "He and I were never particularly close."

"Nevertheless," Cuthrell continued breezily, "I would also appreciate any further efforts on your part."

Her eyes widened. "Are you asking me to spy on him for you?"

"That's unnecessarily harsh, Hermione," he replied with a small wince. "I am simply asking for assistance in Severus' successful treatment. Surely a friend of his would be willing."

Standing, she felt her back muscles sigh gratefully as they were released from the confines of that horrible chair. "No wonder he thought you sent me," she said tightly. "Dr. Cuthrell, if Professor Snape won't talk to you, I believe that's between you and him. Goodbye, sir." She turned on her heel and walked toward the door, not noticing him mouth the word Professor with a question in his eyes.

But his voice was menacing as he called to her back. "I can restrict your visits, Hermione. You'll never set eyes on him again."

She turned around again to glare at him. "You wouldn't do that, Dr. Cuthrell."

"Try me." He gave her a wolfish grin.

"First of all," she said, returning his grin with a deceptively sweet smile, "he will see that as confirmation of his suspicions and you'll never get another word out of him. And second ..."

"Yes?" he prompted impatiently, apparently unconvinced.

"I wonder what Albus Dumbledore would think if he heard about it," she said breezily, smile widening.

Cuthrell's mouth fell open. "How do you know Albus Dumbledore?" he asked scornfully. "For that matter, how do you really know Professor Snape?"

She laughed then, delighted that he hadn't recognized her name. "You're right," she said in a derisive tone. "He hasn't told you anything if he hasn't mentioned Harry Potter."

Hermione deliberately shut the door as she walked out of Cuthrell's office.

-- -- -- -- --

He was still there. As Hermione made her way back through the hallway, she saw Snape still seated languidly in the little visiting room.

Taking a deep breath, she made an impulsive choice and pushed the door open, stepping into the room and offering Snape a half-hearted smile. "Hallo," she tried.

His face settled into a familiar scowl. "I saw you squirrel away with Cuthrell," he accused.

"First time I'd laid eyes on him, personally," she said, sitting down. "He's rather unpleasant, isn't he?"

Eyes narrowing, the scowl deepened. "You will not placate me with such blathering nonsense."

"Of course not," she retorted. "That was not actually my intention, sir. I was merely stating fact. He is unpleasant."

Snape did not rise to her bait, choosing instead to continue to glare at her in silence.

"Although ..." Hermione began thoughtfully, "he did share a few pertinent points on your condition with me. I am sorry."

"Sorry?" he echoed with a sharp bark of laughter. "Whatever for?"

"Probably just in general," she said. "Although I wish I could say that I feel sorry for what has happened to you -- I just don't think you'd take it well."

He frowned and Hermione got the startling impression that if he were forty years younger, he'd stick his tongue out at her. "You are rather convinced of your own cleverness, aren't you," he sneered. "Who are you, anyway?"

"You won't like it," she warned.

"Of course I won't," he agreed uncharacteristically complacently.

Hermione nodded at him. "I'm Hermione Granger."

Snape's expression was immediately shuttered. "Get out."

"I told you," she said.

"Come to make fun of old Snape, have you?" he asked bitterly, face twisted with anger. "Well, go ahead." He held his arms out limply, exposing his chest.

"No, I --"

Interrupting her, Snape's anger seemed to intensify. "I had nothing to say to you years ago, Miss Granger, and so I have nothing to say to you now. Get out."

Suddenly angry herself, Hermione remained firmly seated. "Professor," she began sternly.

His face drained of emotion as abruptly as it had arrived, leaving only a tired irritation behind. "I am not a professor any longer, Miss Granger."

"Snape, then," she snapped rudely, jerking her head in a nod. "I assure you, I did not come here to make fun of you or to spy on you or to do any of the wretched things to you that I'm sure you've imagined."

Snape looked increasingly horrified as she spoke. "Oh, sweet Merlin," he muttered. "You're here to fix me, aren't you? Miss Granger, I will not say it again -- get --"

"I will not," she retorted. "I am no longer your student and it's been years since you could tell me what to do. Can we please discuss this like rational people?"

"In case you have forgotten, Miss Granger," he said derisively, "I am not rational. I am mad. I have an entire team of doctors telling me so on a daily basis."

"Whatever you wish," she said, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. "I am not here to fix you either."

"Well, then, why are you here? People will say we're in love.**" This was accompanied by a sly sort of smirk that made Hermione dimly wish she had her wand.

Reluctant to reply, she hedged for a moment, until she could no longer stand his ever-widening grin. "I don't know why I'm here," she eventually said. "When Dumbledore said where you were, I just felt like I ought --"

"You spoke with Albus?" he interrupted quickly. "When?"

"A couple of weeks ago," she replied.

He scowled and settled back in his chair, irritation turning into a fine sulk. "Albus," he spat through grit teeth.

"He didn't tell me to come here," she said. "In fact, he probably doesn't even know."

"I'm sure he does," Snape said with a long-suffering sigh. "He'd make it a point to, if I know him as well as I think I do."

She remained silent, not knowing what to say.

After a few more quiet moments, Snape lowered his gaze to the tabletop. "I think, perhaps, Miss Granger, that it is an appropriate time for you to leave, if you don't mind."

Probably more acquiescing due to his remotely civil tone, Hermione stood and nodded. "Good day, then, Snape."

He snorted as she left. "Good day, indeed."

-- -- -- -- --