A Life Worth Living

Chapter 4 – Memories Best Left Forgotten

Garbed as she was in her biggest, fluffiest dressing gown, Hermione felt ready for anything. The soft bunny slippers were a nice addition, however necessary owing to the large expanse of cold, stone floor of her chambers that wasn’t covered by the plush rug. With a quick last-minute glance in the full-length mirror (“You’re not going out, are you? Well, stay warm, you don’t want to get that cold back…”) she left the room and descended the stairs.

The familiar hum of a crowded room reached her even before she could see the glow emanating from the bottom of the staircase. Standing nervously in the doorway, the pink-clad figure silently observed the array of Gryffindor students lounging in all corners of the common room. Not one noticed her. The thought was a little depressing, but she was determined to work things out once and for all with the boys.

Hermione could see Harry and Ron in their customary seats by the open fire, bent over an enormous pile of books and parchment. The old, but surprisingly comfortable armchair that she had claimed such a long time ago had been moved from it’s position near the hearth to where a small cluster of first years sat on the opposite side of the room. A seed of doubt entered her mind. Perhaps they’re busy, perhaps now isn’t a good time…

Something large, warm and remarkably heavy slammed into her side, propelling her across to where the two boys worked, effectively making the decision for her. As it turned out, the big heavy object was actually Neville.

“Oh, sorry Hermione, sorry. Seamus’s idea, you see. No, no, not to knock you over, the Invisible Airbag. He got it from Fred and George’s in Hogsmeade last week. You walk into it without realising it’s there, and bang! Out of nowhere you go flying in the opposite direction. I don’t suppose you want a go?” Neville moved to give her a hand getting up.

Hermione winced as she accepted the offered arm, feeling new bruises with every movement. Something really had to be done about the hard, uneven floor of the tower. Once standing, she found herself face to face with Seamus, who was looking distinctly less apologetic than Neville had.

“It wasn’t all my idea, besides, Neville volunteered to test it. Well, we volunteered him,” he said with a shrug, indicating the huddle of sixth and seventh years over near the portrait hole. “Are you alright?”

Hermione tried to keep a straight face while trying to determine whether or not her hip was broken. Evidently, judging by the level of concern shown by Harry, who had moved from the fire to the scene, she hadn’t succeeded. Ron, standing behind Harry, glared at Seamus, who shrugged but backed away.

“We’d better get you to Madam Pomfrey, ‘Mione, that was one heck of a fall,” Harry said, admiringly. Hermione snorted at his tone.

“Not half as impressive as falling fifty feet off a broomstick!” She grinned, still a somewhat awkward feeling. The fleeting thought of her ever-so recent depression soured her mood a little, and the bruises along her left side became even more prominent in her mind. Harry gently lifted her arm to his shoulder and helped her to the portrait hole and out into the corridor, Ron tagging along behind.

Even as she limped down the twisting labyrinth of halls and passages from the tower to the hospital wing, Hermione couldn’t help but be painfully aware of Harry’s persistent closeness; the way his steps were in time with hers, and the way he drew her arm closer around himself. She knew perfectly well about his feelings for her, she knew why he and Ron had gone to her room that night, and she knew that it was Harry that had left the crystal behind.

Right now, when she was so terribly confused as it was, those feelings were exactly what she didn’t need.

*****

“Now what have you been doing, Miss Granger? Trying to walk through walls?”

The friendly matron chuckled as she applied a poultice to the obvious bruises on Hermione’s side, and prodded her swollen hip with her wand. Hermione winced, and Madam Pomfrey nodded sagely. “Just what I thought, you’ve fractured it. Just a moment…”

For what seemed to be entire minutes, but in reality was only a second or so, Hermione felt her hip grow hot, red-hot, and she gasped and clutched at Harry’s arm. But it passed within moments, and felt immediately better for it. She stood and walked around the room, to the plump matron’s approval, before thanking her and beginning the long walk back to the Gryffindor tower.

The three students were engaged in a conversation about Quidditch as they made their way through the corridors. Well, the two boys talked and Hermione listened, reminding her again of how much she had missed over the last year or so. In any case, it meant that Hermione was the first to notice their silent observer.

“Good evening, Professor,” she said, coolly.

Professor Snape stepped out from the shadows. “I hope you all have good reason for being out of your common room,” he said, cold eyes glinting even in the semi-darkness.

“I fractured my hip in the common room, Professor. Ron and Harry helped me to the hospital wing.”

“I’m glad to see you are alright,” Snape replied, in his usual sarcastic manner. Noticing her attire, namely the rabbit slippers, he added, “It is almost eight, Miss Granger, I’m sure you will have time to change, if you hurry.” With that he swept off in the opposite direction, presumably on another nightly patrol. The boys looked puzzled, and Hermione slapped a hand to her forehead. The detention. She’d completely forgotten about it.

All thoughts of finally having the reveal-all conversation with her best friends were banished, having only enough time to run to the common room, change into her robes and get back to the dungeons by eight o’clock. Damn the bastard.

*****

"Now half an ounce of powdered asphodel, slowly girl, stir it in slowly!" The Potions Master gave an exasperated sigh, as if he were teaching a group of particularly thick first years how to make the most basic of Lethargy Potions. Hermione struggled to keep her body language neutral while sitting at the front desk of the potions lab silently fuming.

So, he knew.

Hermione felt sick. Without telling her exactly what it was she was brewing, Snape had been giving her step-by-step instructions in the preparation of the potion she had to create for her detention. An unjustified detention at that. Inwardly, she groaned. An unfair detention with Snape meant only one thing...

"Do you know what it is that you are making yet, Miss Granger?" The words hung in the air, accompanied by a mirthless smirk.

"Yes, professor."

"Well, aren't you going to show off your deductive prowess? Come on girl, out with it!"

Hermione swallowed, her anger melting into fear. "It's a Recollection Potion, professor," she said, in a tone close to a whisper.

"And is it finished?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Why don't you test it? You will only need a ladleful." The sallow Potions Master looked faintly amused.

Hermione looked faintly nauseous.

Knowing that he'd won was enough to make her ill as it was. She had only two options now - to sabotage her own potion, or to drink it. She didn't like the consequences of either. However, her need to redeem herself, after the previous miserable year, overcame her fear of the unknown. Steeling herself, she grasped the silver ladle, heavy in her hand, and slowly dipped it into the simmering potion. The concoction smelt vaguely of lavender, the familiar scent calming her slightly as she raised it to her mouth.

A quick swallow and a grimace later, Hermione felt none the worse for wear. It was a full minute before the potion began to take effect, her professor looking on intently the whole time. And then she cried.

*****

The tears continued to flow; endless, wracking sobs that echoed through the cold dungeon.

Snape was close to panicking. The girl was curled into a foetal position, the desperate cries nearly choking her as she struggled to breathe through the onslaught of tears. With shaking hands, he fumbled in his drawer for something, anything, that might calm her. His long, slender fingers found nothing save half a dozen quills and a small vial labelled Midnight Hour Eye-Widener. Cursing, he strode to her side, but then hesitated. His experiences with women were limited, and never had he been required to console one so distraught.

Uncertainly, he dropped his hand to her shoulder. As soon as he made contact she started violently, as though his fingers were charged and colder than ice. Hermione retreated further into herself, the sobs turning to small, staggered hiccups and she began to shiver. Snape took his cue and went to find a blanket, but upon second thoughts, decided against leaving her. Instead he removed his heavy cloak and placed it around her; the shivers increased briefly, but passed when he moved away. He considered alerting Dumbledore but quickly dismissed the idea, partly out of guilt for his own actions, mostly out of concern for Hermione. He did not like the idea of leaving her alone in this condition while trying to find the elusive Headmaster. The idea of explaining to Dumbledore how she had come to be in this state was not pleasant, either.

So he remained sitting stiffly and silently opposite her, waiting for some sign of awareness. There was nothing else he could do. Terrible thoughts flooded his mind and he ignored them all, subconsciously refusing to consider them. His attention was concentrated on the student huddled in front of him, oblivious to his focus on her.

When she seemed to have calmed, however slightly, the shivers subsiding and the sobs growing less violent, he spoke her name quietly. “Miss Granger. Hermione. Can you hear me?” When she failed to respond the thoughts again crashed against his mental barrier, a restless wave of doubt threatening to sweep away the breakwater in his mind. “Miss Granger, talk to me. Are you in pain?”

Slowly, ever so slowly, she raised her head. Her face was unnaturally white, almost grey, and the level of anxiety he saw there, etched into her otherwise gentle features, alarmed Severus. She was looking at him, but not seeing him. Her eyes were wide and hollow, and he could see the grief staining the dark irises. He began to wonder then, if the potion hadn’t gone awry as he had suspected. Perhaps, perhaps this was what she had been hiding from.

*****

After swallowing the concoction, Hermione glared at Snape, who seemed to be quite amused. A flicker of hope sparked in her mind when she realised she might be wrong, maybe there was no memory charm. Maybe she was just paranoid. She could see how she would have come to the conclusion, though. All her symptoms added up to the common side affects of memory loss, depression, confusion, and an unmistakable vagueness about events recent to the casting of the charm. The one thing she was definitely confused about though, was just who had cast the memory charm. It was so aggravating, having no recollection of the event but suspecting it based on her own character. Had she really been so depressed that she would have cast such a charm on herself? No, even though depression did strange things to the mind, she would never have even considered…

Her head began to feel strangely light, and for a moment time seemed to falter. She stood at the brink of an abyss, staring down into the deep, dark of the unknown. For the moment, she didn’t dare breathe for fear of falling, but the air around her seemed to compress and shrink, forcing her forward until she finally lost her balance and was thrown into the nothingness.

It began to close in around her as she continued her freefall into her subconscious. She tried to scream, but it was too fast, surrounded her and flooding her entire being with memories, seeping into her eyes, ears, nose, mouth. Hermione watched helplessly, as glimpses of her life flashed in her mind in no apparent order. In what might have been hours, she saw her entire life played out in random moments. She began to sob, partly in terror, but also in anticipation of what she knew would come next.

And then it was silent. No more visual theatrics that engulfed her mind, no more overwhelming memories, just the simple knowledge that she knew would haunt the rest of her days.

She knew.

The sound of her own cries filled her consciousness, a desperate, choking sob that threatened to drain away all her emotions and leave her with nothing; to leave just the shell, the part of her that knew nothing of pain and grief, and remorse.

Something touched her, out of the darkness, and she screamed without making a sound. It was happening again, no, she couldn’t let it happen again. Hermione began to tremble with anxiety, until one shiver overlapped the next and her whole body was engaged in a continuos tremor.

Slowly, she became aware of something, someone, standing over her, and, overcome with terror, she began to choke on her own tears. When something warm and heavy was thrown over her, the convulsions began again with renewed vigour.

After a while, the consistent shuddering became more staggered and infrequent, and she could almost see through the red haze clouding her vision. A voice was calling her, a familiar voice, and she struggled to identify the sound. It called again, and in one last effort she lifted her lead-weighted head to face the owner of voice.

A dark figure was before her. It said, firmly but unmistakably worriedly, “Miss Granger, talk to me. Are you in pain?”

She groaned, taken so sharply back to the present. The combination of fresh memories and old ones was too much for her, and the tears returned.

“Do you wish to speak about it?”

She stared up at the face, normally so cold and indifferent, now the only familiar sight she had from which to draw strength. Swallowing the sobs, Hermione managed to mumble only a few words before being consumed by sorrow. “Malfoy,” she spoke, thickly, “My parents. I…” Her voice became unintelligible, the words heavily accented with anguish.

Snape was relieved, but only slightly. So it was about her parents. But why the memory charm, if Neffler was right, and she had been getting over it? “Miss Granger, it is generally best to get it off your chest. It won't seem as bad.” He realised his mistake as soon as he said it. Her sobbing doubled, and only when she was again in control did she reply, however painfully and arduously.

“I…I killed them.”