A Capacity for Love

CHAPTER 7

- Realization -

Hermione did not want to get up. She listened through drawn curtains as her dormmates got ready to go down to breakfast. As they were about to leave, Parvati knocked on Hermione's bedpost, then pulled back the dark red curtain, just enough to peek inside.

"Are you sick again?" she asked, tentatively.

Hermione didn't stir, didn't even open her eyes. "I'm all right," she murmured, her lips barely moving. "Go ahead."

"Are you sure? Do you want to see Madam Pomfrey?"

"I said I'm fine," Hermione repeated, this time with more than a hint of annoyance, although she still didn't open her eyes. She simply couldn't seem to muster the energy.

"Fine," Parvati snapped curtly and flicked the curtain shut again. A moment later, Hermione heard footsteps receding and the door clicking shut.

Hermione lay still for a moment, then curled over onto her side. She had a stomachache. Probably her period coming on. Great; just what she needed on top of everything else. She reached down to feel if there was any need to summon a Blood Crystal from the sideboard, but there was nothing. She relaxed a little. Wouldn't have made sense, anyway; it had only been three and a half weeks. She was irregular, but not that irregular.

Yesterday had been one huge headache; in fact, she had retired early with a pounding one. Harry had shown everyone up once again in Potions (he and his precious Half-Blood Prince...Hermione gnashed her teeth); she'd cut her finger nearly down to the bone in Herbology, and Neville of all people had been the one to have the presence of mind to cast a Stanching spell (as if she couldn't do that one in her sleep); Flitwick had praised Lavender (Lavender!) and asked her to demonstrate her Twirling Charm for the class (like there was any practical application for that); and every attempt she had made at simple conversation with Ron had been met with sneering, cold retorts.

How had everything between them changed so quickly? Hermione despaired. It had all happened on or about Halloween, she was sure, but she couldn't explain it logically. Ron hadn't heard anything about what really happened. Things had been good between them that night; they had passed a pleasant evening together, and Hermione could have sworn there was at least a little mutual flirting going on.

Then...well, then he'd visited her in the infirmary, and although neither had really seemed to know what to say to the other, she had felt he was worried about her; or at least, glad she would be better soon. But then she'd spent the greater part of the weekend withdrawn, and from the start of classes on Monday, there had been some sort of invisible wall between them. She realized right away she was the one who had thrown it up, but she was also angry at Ron for not trying harder. Some friend he was, to give up so easily. Even Harry, who was preoccupied with Quidditch and Death Eaters and Voldemort; even he was making friendly overtures toward her. She'd finally gotten around to asking him about the Map, and Harry'd said Malfoy had been in the castle on Halloween; at least until he, Harry, had gone to bed around midnight. Not that Malfoy couldn't have snuck off after that. But that was only her paranoia talking. Of course he hadn't been there. Nor had Professor Snape. Of course not.

+++000+++000+++

She'd also gone to see Lisa in the hospital wing again, and had been most disturbed to see the privacy curtain drawn shut around her bed. Lolly Drew, the second-year with the measles, had beckoned her over lethargically.

"She had a seizure," Lolly reported hoarsely. Her face and hands were splotched with bright red patches where the spots had grown together, and her eyes were fever-bright.

Hermione's heart froze momentarily. "A seizure?" She sank down on Lolly's bed.

Lolly nodded and coughed delicately.

"But is she--What happened?"

Lolly pushed herself up into a semi-reclining position. The bed adjusted beneath her automatically to support her. "It happened this morning," she confided, her voice barely above a whisper. "Before breakfast, she started shaking all over. Madam Pomfrey saw it right away and cast some sort of calming spell on her. Then she put up the curtains and it's been like that all day. Professor Dumbledore came down a little while later. Professor Snape was here, too, and then her parents were here a little while ago. I heard them saying something about a seizure." The girl shrugged, as if to say that was all she knew.

Hermione glanced over at the white, impassive curtains. "Is anyone in there with her now?" she asked.

Lolly shook her head.

Hermione got up and walked over to the isolated bed, hesitantly listening before pulling back one of the curtains. Lisa was lying on her side with her eyes closed, the covers tented smoothly over her, as if she had simply been inserted between them. Her face was pale, and her lips were slightly parted as the air passed gently in and out.

Hermione slipped past the curtains, into the rectangular cubicle they formed. It was eerily quiet; the usual background infirmary sounds of patients coughing, pages turning, bedsprings creaking, voices murmuring, and doors clicking open and shut, were absent. There must be a Muffling charm within the curtained-off space, Hermione realized. Perhaps worked into the fabric of the curtains themselves.

She stood in that white-encased oasis for several minutes, watching the other girl sleep. If only this were all there was to life: standing still, concentrating on breathing. The enormity of life outside, in the halls of Hogwarts, seemed suddenly overwhelming. Life outside of that, in the world at large, was simply an abstraction at that point, a quantity like infinity, which could be theorized about but never truly grasped. There was no such thing as a Death Eater. No such thing as a Voldemort. No such thing as rape or power or hatred or snow or Ron's freckles or meat pies or books. Just standing and breathing in the whiteness.

+++000+++000+++

Sluggishly, Hermione pulled herself out of bed and haphazardly threw on some clothes. It was force of habit more than anything else driving her forward that morning. What was the point of going to classes anymore, anyway? She wasn't learning anything; no more than she learned on her own from reading the books, at any rate. Defense Against the Dark Arts was the biggest waste of time of all. She'd secretly hoped, at the beginning of the year, when they found out Snape would be their instructor, that he would be the one Defense teacher who finally got down to business. Lupin had been all right, but the real threats in the world those days weren't Boggarts and Grindylows; they were their fellow wizards. In the event, Snape seemed more interested in hearing the sound of his own voice than in giving them anything useful. So far, he'd been approximately as effective as the Ministry flyers advising everyone to institute watchwords and not venture out alone.

Hermione trudged up and down staircases on her way to her first class, having skipped breakfast altogether. The gong indicating the start of the first period sounded while she was still in the corridor, but, uncharacteristically, she didn't care. So she was late. So what? She lackadaisically pulled open the door to the Defense classroom and slid into an empty seat in the back row next to Harry.

Harry looked at her quickly, frowning. "Are you using a Time-Turner again?" he whispered.

Hermione frowned, too, and shook her head shortly, keeping her eyes focused on the front of the room.

Snape had registered her entrance and seemed to be hesitating about something. Finally, he pressed his lips together and snapped, "Ten points from Gryffindor for tardiness, and five more for speaking out of turn, Mr. Potter," then turned away and took a few steps along the front row. He stopped short, then, in a single motion, whipped his wand out, turned to face Ernie MacMillan, and cried, "Somnula!"

Immediately, Ernie fell forward onto his desk and began to snore.

Barely pausing, Snape pointed his wand at Seamus. "Confundo!"

Millicent Bulstrode. "Alucinor!"

Neville. "Nox Maris--"

"P-p-protego!" Neville gulped, holding his own wand shakily aloft, but his eyes rolled back in his head and he began to groan anyway.

Snape paused, briefly, then whirled and pointed his wand at Pansy. "Confun--" he began, but Pansy confidently held out her own yellow wand and declared, "Protego," with a smirk on her face. As Snape finished the spell, though, Pansy's smirk turned into a look of mild bewilderment.

Hermione shifted uneasily in her chair, her earlier lethargy forgotten. She was clenching her own wand in her fist and saw Harry was doing the same. She watched Snape closely, trying to anticipate his next move. His black-hung form looked taut, his narrow shoulders slightly pulled up. The image of another black-robed figure seemed to superimpose itself on the scene. Hermione was momentarily disoriented. He could have been about the same size and build. But it was too hard to tell at this distance, from this angle...she'd been lying down, he standing over her. Scales were bound to have appeared distorted.

Irritated at letting herself get distracted, Hermione tried to think of what she was going to do when her turn came. The usual Protection charm clearly wasn't working. When in doubt, 'run and hide' was a good strategy, she finally decided. She got ready to dive under the desk.

Snape turned in an arc, letting his wand pass over all the students not yet hexed. His black wand was extended, gripped firmly in his pale hand. Lots of people had black wands, Hermione chided herself. She glanced quickly around the room. There, see: Parvati's wand was also...no, it was more of a really dark brown.

Snape had almost reached the end of the row when, without warning, he extended his arm toward Harry and yelled, "Subicium!"

But just as quickly, Harry had his wand up and was shouting, "Mens Protego!"

Hermione looked at Harry, startled. Of course, she thought. How obvious. She mentally slapped herself for not thinking of it first. She'd been too distracted by the...the Thing.

Snape lowered his wand, a look of grudging acknowledgement on his face. "Someone wake MacMillan up," he said with undisguised disgust, before ending the hexes he had placed on the other students.

"That was pathetic," he sneered, once he had everyone's attention again. Seamus was still looking a bit dazed, and Neville a bit terrified, but, as those looks were not entirely out of character for them, no one was worried much. Snape slapped his hand down on Ernie's desk, causing him to jerk open his eyes, which had started to droop again. "You cannot block mind spells with a physical shield! How much more elementary do we have to get!" He glowered at the class for a moment, until he felt they had been sufficiently humbled. Then he straightened up and, with a sweeping motion, moved all of the desks back against the walls.

As they all still had students sitting at them, this caused quite a scramble as everyone got up and out of the way as quickly as they could. Still, Neville ended up being pinned and having to be freed by Hermione.

"Partners!" Snape barked. "One of you will cast a mind spell, the other will attempt to block it with the mind protection spell. No Unforgivables--" Snape cast a warning look at Draco. "--and no casting a spell you are not personally able to reverse. Most of you are capable of forgetting quite enough on your own, without having to deal with Obliviations on top of it," he added archly.

"You and me, mate," Ron said immediately, grabbing Harry's arm and pulling him away from Hermione. Harry shot Hermione an apologetic look, but she just sighed and gave Neville a hand as he climbed down from the desk.

"You don't have to partner with me, Hermione," Neville said softly. "You're much better than me."

"Don't be silly, Neville," Hermione said busily. "You were very quick with that Stanching charm yesterday. Why don't you cast first, and I'll defend."

In just a few minutes, the classroom resembled Bedlam. Pansy was crouched on top of a desk, crowing like a rooster; Seamus and Dean, who had been working together, were both sound asleep in the middle of the floor. Lavender was deep in a discussion with an imaginary centaur, Ernie was frantically attempting to end the nightmare he had induced in Susan Bones, and Blaise and Draco were doubled up with laughter; whether their mirth had a magical cause, or simply the fact they found the entire exercise so amusing, was impossible to tell.

Neville had been patiently making attempt after fruitless attempt at putting Hermione to sleep, and Hermione was getting both bored and frustrated. She didn't want to be rude to Neville, but this was truly no challenge. "Neville, at least try a nightmare," she said, a little crossly.

Neville shook his head, looking petrified. "No! I--I can't do that one!"

"Oh, honestly, Neville," Hermione said irritably, closing the distance between them. "It's 'Nox Maris' and you hold your wand like this," she said, demonstrating.

"I don't want to give you a nightmare," Neville protested weakly.

"I wouldn't worry too much, Neville," Hermione replied, well knowing she'd be able to block his spell as easily as she had the others. "Just for a change, you know? Now." She took a couple of steps back again and held her wand aloft. "I'm ready, go ahead."

"Nox Maris," Neville whispered, jabbing his wand in Hermione's direction.

"Mens Protego," Hermione tossed out automatically, although, really, she didn't think he'd cast that properly anyway. "Again," she demanded.

Neville swallowed and glanced nervously over Hermione's shoulder. "N-nox Ma-aris," he stuttered, and promptly fumbled his wand.

"What's wrong with you?" Hermione said irritably.

"It's Snape," Neville whispered as he bent over to retrieve the wooden stick. "He's watching me."

"Oh, for goodness' sake," Hermione replied, rolling her eyes. "Did you or did you not stand up to a half-dozen Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries? What's one of him compared to them?"

Neville looked as if he were contemplating this question very seriously.

+++000+++000+++

Snape stood to the side of the room, watching the future hope of wizardkind fail miserably at their assigned task. To be sure, Potter and Granger were handily blocking everything that came their way, but then look at who their partners were: Weasley and Longbottom. How either of them had ever managed to pass their O.W.L. in this subject was a complete mystery to him.

Granger seemed to have recovered from last week's incident (he shied away from calling it an 'attack' or even an 'ordeal', since those words had unpleasant guilt associations attached to it) remarkably well. Especially when he compared her to the others.

MacDermott had been belligerent and combative with everything and everyone, and he had no compunctions whatsoever docking her House points and even assigning her detention (to be served with Minerva, of course).

Ploppe had been a miserable wreck, bursting into tears for no reason whatsoever. If things didn't improve today, he was going to request she be suspended from his class until she got her emotions under control. It was really quite disturbing to the progress of the class.

Turpin, it now appeared, was a candidate for the Janus Thickey ward at St. Mungo's. Not her fault, entirely; anyone's body and mind might break down after the battery of hostile magic to which she had been subjected. The old man had even asked him for suggestions to counteract the after-effects of the Cruciatus, the Laughing Hex, and Dancing Hex which were wracking her body, but there was no simple chemical solution. A Relaxation potion had helped to alleviate the immediate symptoms, to be sure, but that wouldn't do any good in the long run; on the contrary, it would only cloud her mind further.

But Granger, aside from the one day of missed classes, had plowed on without so much as a blip on the screen. Perhaps she was putting up a facade, or perhaps she really was that strong. Not that he thought much about the inner workings of the teenage girl's mind.

Snape recoiled now, however, at the recollection of his own initial reaction toward her at the start of the week. He should never have ignored her like that. He hadn't been trying to spare her feelings, give her special treatment. He had simply not trusted his ability to keep his own reactions in check. He had been afraid eye contact would reveal something to her, but of course that was ridiculous. She was no Legilimens. Such weakness on his part was not only embarrassing, but dangerous. It hadn't been Granger that night. It had been a body, a soulless construction of skin, blood, and bones. Just as it had not been he performing the act; it had been a tool of the Dark Lord, following orders, fulfilling a part in a master scheme.

The Dark Lord had been most displeased to hear at the briefing on Sunday night that Dumbledore was enjoying successat keeping things hushed up; a few Cruciatuses later, Snape was able to convince him there was little that he, Snape, could do about it. Dumbledore wasn't about to publicly accuse the Death Eaters, and the Muggleborn themselves were, for various and fairly obvious reasons, not conducive to speaking openly about it.

And so, apart from a few childish tears, nothing much had come of the entire action. It was best put behind one, as was so much else. This hour belonged to Hogwarts' Defense Professor, in any case, and Longbottom was executing such a pitiful excuse for a Nightmare Hex that Snape could no longer hold his tongue. And now the brat had dropped his wand, to add insult to injury.

"Longbottom!" the professor thundered over the cacophony of the classroom, startling several other students in addition to his intended target. He stepped neatly over the inert figures of Finnigan and Thomas. "One would think, after five years of instruction in how to hold a wand, you would have figured out by now WHICH END IS UP!" He snatched Neville's wand out of his fist and replaced it, right way round. Neville looked like he was about to cry. "Perform the hex!" Snape commanded, folding his arms imperiously.

Neville closed his eyes for a moment, his face gone completely white. "Nox Maris," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Snape didn't even register Granger reciting the Mind Protection charm, so overcome was he with rage at the inept pupil. "Are you even thinking about what you're doing?" Snape demanded, his voice shaking with barely suppressed ire. "Perform the hex!" he cried.

Neville swallowed, aware that he now had the attention not only of his most feared professor, but also of all the students not currently under the effects of a hostile spell themselves. "Nox Maris," he said miserably, twisting his wand in an approximation of the correct motion.

"No, no, and for the third time, no!" Snape shouted and closed his own hand over Neville's, forcing him to trace the wand movement in the air. "Nox Maris, Nox Maris," he shouted in time to the movements. "Why can't you get it, you feebleminded worm!"

Granger was hissing something at the unfortunate boy, but Snape wasn't listening.

"I--I'm sorry, sir," Neville ventured. "I'll practice it."

"You will do it now until you get it!" Snape insisted, beyond all reason in his fury.

"I can't, sir," Neville protested weakly. "You've seen, I can't."

"For God's sake, it's not the Killing Curse!" He pointed his wand at Hermione. "Nox Maris!"

+++000+++000+++

It was him. It was the same wand. Oh, God, it was him. The same hand extending from the black sleeve, the same pale skin, the same black hairs. It was him. It wasn't, of course. It couldn't be. But it was him. She reached her hand out to touch the wand, but she knew how it would feel: the diameter, the relief carving, the greasy surface. She hadn't even made contact with it yet when the nightmare started...

She was lying on her back. There was a hissing sound, and she felt a panicky prickling under her arms and up her scalp. Something was touching her foot. She looked down. It was a thick, black snake, its tongue flicking out, testing its way. It wrapped itself around her leg. She tried to push it away, but although she could move her hands, she couldn't reach it. It twisted itself higher, around her calf, her thigh. Her heart was beating wildly; it was going to bite her, poison her. She had to get away. She scrambled backward, but the snake held tight, its long body trailing away in the dimness beyond. It had reached the top of her thigh and now she knew what was coming, and in horror she watched as it slipped inside her, right through her clothes. There was no pain, but she felt it filling her up, felt her uterus becoming fuller and fuller, distended, pressing on her innards, until the whole length had vanished inside her, and she felt her body rebelling, her stomach roiling against the invasion, and then she heaved and gagged as she began vomiting the reptile out.

+++000+++000+++

"Hermione?"

She was lying on her side, panting. She felt cold and sweaty. She blinked her eyes open and saw whiteness. A sheet. A white robe.

"Hermione, you need to drink this." A glass with a milky liquid was thrust in front of her by the white-robed person. There had been a snake. A black wand. Hermione groaned and closed her eyes again. A warm hand slipped itself under her shoulders and lifted her to a semi-sitting position. "This will help against the nausea," Madam Pomfrey said. The glass was pressed to Hermione's mouth, and she allowed a sip of the sweet chalky drink to pass her lips.

"Good girl," Pomfrey said. Hermione felt the mattress underneath her rising to support her back. "Take this and drink it in small sips. You'll be all right in a few minutes."

Hermione closed her hand around the glass, and only then became aware of Harry, Neville, and Ron watching her in an anxious cluster at the foot of the bed.

"You all right?" Harry asked.

Hermione frowned and nodded, adjusting herself in the bed. "I'm all right. What--How come I'm here?" She remembered Snape pointing his wand at her, and then the realization returned to her. It had been him. She felt hot and cold and dizzy all at once.

"Snape gave you a nightmare, the great git," Harry responded bitterly. "You collapsed right there in the classroom and started puking your guts out."

Hermione's stomach growled uncomfortably in confirmation. She took another sip of the medicine and tried to remain calm. It wasn't him, it wasn't him, it wasn't him, she tried to convince herself, only half-listening to her friends.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," Neville said, obviously pained. "If I hadn't been so bad at that spell, he never would've--"

"It's not your fault, Neville," Harry said angrily. "He was out to get one of us; Hermione was just unlucky to have been in his line of fire."

"You were so eager to get his attention last class, looks like you got it all right this time," Ron added darkly.

Hermione was unsure whether that was supposed to be sympathy or an accusation, but she wasn't in a frame of mind to puzzle about it at the moment.

"Is it better now, Hermione?" Madam Pomfrey asked, feeling her patient's forehead.

"Yes, thanks," Hermione said, handing her the glass back. The nausea had receded, in fact. She started to get out of bed.

"Ah, ah, you'll rest here for the remainder of the morning," the nurse said, pushing Hermione back down. "And I shall be having a word with the Headmaster about the teaching methods being used in this school. Giving students nightmares, especially after what you've been through..." She shook her head and tutted away.

"What you've been through...?" Harry looked at Hermione with a puzzled expression.

"The flu last week," Hermione explained, thinking quickly.

"Oh, right," Harry said.

"We'd...better be getting to Potions," Ron said, his eyes darting around uncomfortably, avoiding looking at Hermione.

Harry reached down and squeezed Hermione's foot through the coverlet. "Do you want me to stay?" he asked.

Hermione shook her head, although she really, really did want him to. She wanted to tell someone about what she thought she'd seen, what she might have remembered...or was it just part of the nightmare? At any rate, she couldn't tell Harry, because that would mean telling him about That, and that was, of course, impossible.

"No, you go on," she urged him. "Take good notes for me. And none of that stuff from the Half-Blood Prince!" she added crossly.

"Right," Harry agreed, grinning in relief that Hermione was back to her old self.

+++000+++000+++

The wand had been the same. She was sure of it. Or...as sure as she could be. The late-night attack, the confusion, the periods of unconsciousness, the horrendous images, they all combined and fell apart again in her mind, leaving her unable to form an opinion that she had complete faith in. Surely there must be a way of being sure, of comparing the two memories, of the wand-bearer from That Night and Professor Snape pointing his wand at her in class. The Pensieve! Oh, perhaps Professor Dumbledore would let her use his Pensieve. Then she could see whether...but that would mean having to view That again, from the point of view of an observer, no less. And she was certain she would come to the conclusion that He and Professor Snape were not the same; she would find some detail to disprove the ridiculous theory her brain was insisting upon. For there was no way, no way at all, that Professor Snape would have done...That.