A Capacity for Love

CHAPTER 10

- Therapeutic Methods -

"Are you a friend of hers from school?"

Hermione started at the voice. A middle-aged woman, a Muggle, with long, blond hair pulled back into a bun was standing next to her. She looked tired. Weary.

"Erm, yes, yes, I am," Hermione replied, getting up from the chair beside Lisa's bed. Lisa was sound asleep, and had been ever since Hermione arrived half an hour earlier.

"That's all right, sit down," the woman said in a kindly manner. She reached over and pulled up a second chair. "I'm Sharon Turpin. Lisa's mother. I don't suppose she ever spoke of us, did she?" It was more of a statement than a question.

Hermione shook her head. She had never really talked to Lisa before; didn't know her well at all. She suddenly felt guilty for having said she was one of Lisa's friends. "I'm Hermione Granger," she said, feeling awkward, and held out her hand.

Mrs. Turpin pressed it briefly, then turned to Lisa sadly. "Hermione. That's a lovely name." She reached out and smoothed the hair of the sleeping girl.

"Thank you," Hermione said, not knowing what was expected.

There was silence for a moment. Then Mrs. Turpin said, "So you're also...gifted? Like Lisa?" She didn't look at Hermione.

Hermione nodded. "Yes." She wasn't sure whether Mrs. Turpin was speaking in euphemisms for fear of being overheard (although Lisa was in a private room, so there wasn't much danger of that), or because she had never really understood what magic and being a witch was all about herself.

Mrs. Turpin's face turned a bit hard as she kept her gaze focused on her daughter. "Didn't help her much, did it? We thought it would be an opportunity for her. It was hard for us, to send her so far away. But the way the Deputy Headmistress explained it all..." She sighed and lay her hands limply in her lap. "And now this," she ended grimly.

"It... What happened to her, it wasn't because of her...gift," Hermione said, although again she felt a bit uncomfortable saying it, because if Lisa had been a Muggle, she would never have been there on Halloween. Not on this Halloween, anyway.

Mrs. Turpin suddenly turned to Hermione and looked at her as if she'd only just realized she were there. "Do you know?" she asked sharply. "Do you know what happened to her?"

Hermione wasn't sure what to answer at first. If Madam Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore hadn't informed Lisa's parents of what had taken place...

Hermione looked Mrs. Turpin in the eye and said gently, "I was there, too. They... What happened to Lisa, they did it to me, too." Only not as bad. Not nearly as bad.

Mrs. Turpin searched Hermione's face, hard, and if Hermione hadn't known better, she would have thought that she was trying to exercise Legilimency on her. Finally, Mrs. Turpin asked, both urgently and fearfully, "What... what did they do?" Then her features seemed to crack apart as they tried to form an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't ask. The Headmaster told us... I didn't want to believe it." She turned away to look at her daughter's peaceful, sleeping form again. "It's just that... we haven't been able to talk to her. I don't know if we'll ever know what really happened."

And maybe it's best that way, Hermione thought. "It's all right," she said. "I can tell you as much as I know, what I saw, if you want, but it was very brutal."

Mrs. Turpin became very pale. "Was she-- Was she in much pain?"

"Yes," Hemione was forced to admit. Funny how pain seemed to be the thing everyone was worried about. There were spells much worse than the Cruciatus Curse, in Hermione's modest opinion, yet they weren't classified as Unforgivable.

"Oh..." Mrs. Turpin's lip trembled. "And did she know... Was she aware of what was happening?"

"I believe so, at least up to a point," Hermione said neutrally. "It's possible they used the Imperius Curse. That clouds one's awareness."

"I see..." Mrs. Turpin said, although it was clear that she didn't.

After a moment's silence, when it seemed that Lisa's mother wasn't going to pose any more questions, she asked, "Mrs. Turpin, is Lisa... It's just that she's always sleeping when I visit..." She trailed off, trying to find a delicate way of asking whether Lisa had suffered permanent brain damage.

"The doctors are keeping her under sedation," Mrs. Turpin murmured, running her hand over the blanket. "She was having seizures, and they want to give her brain some time to relax. That's how they explained it to us, anyway," she said with half a shrug. "I know it's probably more complicated than that, but... it makes more sense to me than that alternative medicine they were trying at the school." She glanced briefly at Hermione, and then back at Lisa.

Knowing she was overstepping her boundaries, Hermione nevertheless couldn't keep her opinion to herself. "But Mrs. Turpin, what happened to Lisa... I mean, that was..." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "--magical. You can't fix magical damage with Muggle-- I mean, with standard medicine."

Mrs. Turpin turned to Hermione with a severe look. "That so-called magic damaged my baby, may have taken her from us forever. You had your chance and now we are going to do things our way. You-- You just don't understand, you and your talk of witches and curses. That's straight out of the Middle Ages, isn't it?"

"Mrs. Turpin, I do understand. My parents are also Muggles... non-magical. They're just regular dentists. Please, don't take Lisa away from the magical world. She belongs there. That's exactly what the man who did this to her wants: He wants all of those who he thinks are impure to leave, to be killed even. It's going to take all of us, staying and fighting and not giving in and being strong, to overcome him and his kind. Please," Hermione entreated Mrs. Turpin.

Sharon Turpin's brow furrowed and she looked troubled as she contemplated the young woman before her. "All this madness..." she said, her voice trailing away into the clinical silence.

+++000+++000+++

--Shit.--

Severus Snape had a throbbing headache. He groaned and buried his head underneath his pillow. He'd gotten pissed the night before; Scorching Scotch highballs, otherwise known as Fireballs, if he remembered correctly.

He fumbled on his bedside table for his wand, knocking over a glass with the remains of what must have been the last drink he'd had before he'd passed out. The carpet started smoking where the yellow liquid spilled onto it.

"Accio Pepperup Potion," he croaked, and a brown bottle came flying out of the bathroom and landed on the bed. He picked it up and peered at it with bleary eyes. Empty.

--Shit.--

He lay on his back for a bit, not wanting to think. He knew perfectly well why he'd drunk himself into oblivion the night before; and if he knew that, then the entire action had been in vain.

The Granger girl.

The old man had told him that if he talked to her, it would help ease his own conscience. Bloody liar. He felt worse now than ever. He'd felt like a complete and utter fool trying to explain his actions to her. The look of incomprehension on her face had incensed him even further. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was denseness.

How the hell was it supposed to help for him to discuss that night, much less do the unthinkable and apologize for it... Too much thinking. Was it too early for another Fireball?

Wanting nothing more than to succumb once again to the oblivion of sleep, but being plagued by the urgent demand that had awoken him in the first place, he got up and staggered to the bathroom, where he relieved himself and gulped down two glasses of water to slake his parched gullet. Immediately, he regretted having done so, as his empty stomach lurched at the sudden inflow of cold liquid.

Why did every action he took have to have consequences? Unpleasant consequences. Seriously unpleasant consequences. Consequences that screwed up his life. (And other people's lives, too, a niggling little voice insisted on pointing out to him.) Severus squirmed mentally away from that voice. It was that one that had driven him to the Fireballs last night.

Why'd you have to do it? the voice had said in its annoying, whiny way. Why didn't you let someone else do it?

Because that raving maniac would have killed me then and there, you fool! He was just aching for an excuse to.

All the better, the voice had replied. It's not like your life is worth anything anyway.

He hadn't had much to say to that, and this had led him to mix up the first Fireball. Once he'd downed it, he had come up with a rather good retort, though:

Dumbledore. He needs me to take care of him when the time comes.

He'd been pretty pleased with that, as the little voice remained quiet for quite some time, allowing him to enjoy the slightly woozy feeling the Fireball had given him. But then the little voice had reported back with another hornet's nest:

The Granger girl.

That had prompted the second Fireball. He had waited a short while for a response to come, and when it hadn't, he had resorted to a third Fireball. After that, he'd lost count, and the result was now making itself painfully known.

Why did he care about what happened to her, anyway? He'd done what he had to do, both for the Dark Lord's means and in order to maintain his position for Dumbledore's plans. Just a little while longer, and it would all be over, anyway. Far from playing both sides to hedge his bets, as some no doubt thought, he was simply a pawn to the two old codgers. Expendable. Dispensable. Why should the Granger girl, or any of the rest, count more than he?

+++000+++000+++

"Sir?" Pansy Parkinson waved her stubby hand in the air. "Sir? We were wondering, why are love potions considered to be Dark? I mean, love is good, isn't it?"

Professor Snape narrowed his eyes at the pug-nosed Slytherin. "Is Slughorn having you brew love potions, Miss Parkinson?"

"He brought in an entire vat of Amortentia," Malfoy informed the former Potions master with a lazy grin that said he hoped Slughorn was going to get in a lot of trouble.

"Did he, now?" Snape responded drily. "Not something I would find advisable, not with a bunch of randy sixth-years."

There was a great deal of sniggering at that. Even Harry and Ron exchanged pleasurably guilty looks.

Hermione did not. She felt positively sick at hearing Snape's remark. How could he be so glib, so thoughtless, joking about sex drives? Knowing what he was guilty of. Of course, it had probably just been a big joke to him. He probably did it every week. Or every night, for all she knew. She hated him. She absolutely loathed Professor Snape. Snape. What a stupid name. And what an ugly, filthy man he was. Just thinking about it caused her to involuntarily make a sound like a cat with a hairball caught in its throat.

Half the class turned to Hermione in surprise. Only Harry asked, half laughing, "Hermione? Are you all right?"

Hermione glared straight ahead. "Fine," she muttered into the back of her hand, swallowing down her bile.

Snape must have thought that she had snorted in amusement at his comment, since he didn't make any further remark; although she did notice that he flicked a glance in her direction. She looked down at her notes, curling her lip.

"Love potions, Miss Parkinson," Snape began, once the class was silent again, "are considered to be Dark magic because they interfere with the imbiber's free will. A man under the influence of a love potion is no longer in control of his actions. Administering a love potion to an unsuspecting victim is tantamount to casting the Imperius Curse." He paused for a moment to allow the import of his words to sink in.

Pansy sank a little lower in her seat and exchanged a look with Millicent Bulstrode, while Blaise produced a cough that sounded remarkably like "Busted!"

"However," Snape continued, "a love potion affects a much smaller range of behaviour than the Imperius, and, of course, it is relatively simple to brew an antidote. Not that I expect any of you will have found it an easy task," he muttered in an aside.

"Is the antidote to the Imperius Curse hard to brew, then?" Millicent asked stupidly.

Draco rolled his eyes, and it was clear that Snape stopped himself from doing so only with difficulty. "There is no antidote to the Imperius Curse, Miss Bulstrode," he said with exaggerated care. "It is a curse, not a potion, and I believe you will have covered it in your fourth year. One of the more useful exercises Mr. Crouch put you through, if I am not mistaken."

"Bet he wishes he could put us under the Imperius now," Ron muttered under his breath to Harry. Harry snorted sympathetically.

Hermione got the chills, remembering how Snape had pointed his wand at her neck and intoned, 'Imperio.'

"Mr. Weasley?" Snape said sharply. "Potter? Something you find amusing about the Imperius?"

"No, sir," Harry said flatly, staring at Snape with cold eyes.

"It is no laughing matter, I assure you. Although I believe I was informed that you were able to throw it off, were you not...?" He narrowed his eyes calculatingly at Harry.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied loudly. "It wasn't that hard." His answer was more defiant than bragging.

Hermione thought secretly that Harry needn't have added that last part, although she didn't begrudge it him one bit. If she had Harry's guts, she'd be giving it to Snape also.

"Yet another addition to the Potter legend," Snape sneered derisively. "Able to throw off the Imperius at age fourteen. I'd like to see how you handle it being cast by someone who isn't a stark raving lunatic, though."

This dig proved too much for Hermione, and she burst out, "You know you want to cast it on him, why don't you go on, then? You're so good at it!"

Utter silence descended. Even Harry stared at Hermione, flabbergasted.

"What did you say, Miss Granger?" Snape asked in a very dangerous tone of voice.

Hermione jutted her chin at the professor. "I said if you think you're so good at casting the Imperius Curse, why don't you just show us?"

Snape stalked over to Hermione's desk and leaned over, placing his hands on the surface directly in front of her. "The Imperius Curse is a Class Three Unforgivable," he whispered, capturing Hermione's gaze with his, "carrying a mandatory term of no less than one year in Azkaban prison. If I did not have a contract to complete the year as an instructor here, believe me, I would be sorely tempted to do just as you suggest."

Draco grinned and leaned back with his fingers interlocked behind his head. Ron looked at Hermione with a mixture of awe and fear.

Hermione met Snape's eye. "I know," she said in an equally low tone filled with venom and contempt. She felt a sharp kick in her shin.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor," Snape said, without batting an eye. "And you will report to the Headmaster's office immediately." He abruptly turned and strode to his desk, where he scribbled something onto a scrap of parchment.

"Oooooh!" the Slytherins chorused and cackled in glee.

"Are you freaking out of your mind?" Ron screeched in a whisper.

"Way to go, Hermione!" Harry said with a grin.

Hermione, the blood rushing in her ears, hastily stuffed all of her things into her bag and started for the door. Anything to get out of that man's presence.

"Miss Granger!" Snape barked before she could make her exit. "Give this to the Headmaster." He held out the parchment he had written on.

Hermione snatched it out of his hand and slammed the door, hearing Slytherin laughter behind her all the way down the hall.

+++000+++000+++

Hermione stomped through the halls of Hogwarts, finding herself standing in front of the gargoyle guarding the entrance to Professor Dumbledore's office before she was even aware of having navigated the way there. She gave the password and ascended the spiral escalator, preparing all manner of choice words to throw at the Headmaster. When she knocked on the door at the top, however, there was no answer, and when she hesitantly pushed it open, she found the office deserted. Even the various Headmasters' portraits were half empty, and the half that were occupied were asleep.

Both relieved and irritated, she flumped down onto the nearest chair and tried to compose her diatribe. How could Dumbledore continue to protect Snape? It was simply incomprehensible. She had thought long and hard about what the elderly wizard had told her during her last visit to his office, and although she understood logically what had been communicated, she still felt deep down that it was wrong; that he was wrong.

Dumbledore had said, in his cryptic and roundabout way, that he was overlooking -- or ignoring, or however one wanted to put it -- Snape's crimes, in order to stop a much greater criminal. Much like a small-time drug dealer would be granted immunity from prosecution in return for ratting on the major supplier. Which meant that Snape had something on Voldemort, or was in a position to do him serious damage. That much she grasped. But didn't the fact that Dumbledore was willing to work with a man such as Snape, a man who would willingly participate in such vile and loathsome acts as he had, didn't that make Dumbledore complicit?

The Headmaster had said something else: that one sometimes had to do foul things without understanding why. Hermione assumed that he had been referring to her: that he expected her to keep quiet about the attack, because it was important that Snape not be uncovered. Or because the school needed to remain open yet. Or for some other reason that he wasn't at liberty to discuss. But she needed to know! If there was a reason behind it, a reason other than Voldemort's dementia or a Death Eater's sick fantasy, she needed to know! She could almost -- almost -- force herself to deal with what had happened to her if she knew that there was a larger purpose, that in the end it would lead to Voldemort's downfall. But without that information...it was just cruel and inhuman, pure and simple.

She was starting to get antsy, wondering when the Headmaster was going to show. If she didn't get going now, she'd be late for Potions. On the other hand, she didn't really relish the thought of watching Harry pull some last-minute triumph out of the Half-Blood Prince's bag of tricks.

Just then, she heard a sound at the door. Finally! She turned around, expecting to see a long, white beard and colourful robes, but instead a tall, black figure appeared.

"Where is he?" Snape closed the door to the Headmaster's office behind him.

Hermione tried to calm her suddenly wild heart as she realized that they were alone in a closed room. "Who?" she asked, only half hearing what he was saying.

"The Headmaster, obviously," he said impatiently. "I would have thought he'd have dealt with you by now." He swept past her, looking around the office, then rounded on her. "Well?" He glared down at her.

She gave herself a mental shake. "I have absolutely no idea," she stated, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Did he step out? Leave you here alone? When will he be back?" he asked with increasing irritation.

"I told you, I don't know," she answered. "He wasn't here when I got here."

"And you've just been sitting here this whole time?" He sounded both skeptical and taunting.

"Those were your instructions," Hermione countered, coming very close to being mocking as she repeated his words: "Go to the Headmaster's office."

This only infuriated the Defense teacher further. "I have had just about enough of your mouth. Who do you think you are? You are speaking to a professor, and you will not be disrespectful."

"A professor? Don't you mean a Death Eater who is hiding out here posing as a professor?"

There was a slight rustling, and some of the portraits began to stir.

Snape was before her in an instant, grabbing her arm and leaning over to speak directly in her face.

"Keep your mouth shut!" he hissed. "The walls have ears!"

Hermione glanced up at the portraits, and indeed, despite the closed eyes, many of them seemed to be positively alert.

Snape's reaction, far from intimidating her further, actually gave her a feeling of power. She had something on him. Something he didn't want anyone to find out. "What, are you scared that someone will find out what you are?" she taunted, twisting her arm to get it out of his grip.

"It is not for myself that I fear," he whispered intently, but there was no fear in his eyes, only a depth that both repulsed and mesmerised her.

"Who, then?" she challenged him. "Surely not Professor Dumbledore. He's miles more powerful than either you or Voldemort!" She tossed her hair back in a gesture of defiance.

Snape pulled Hermione up by the arm and held her uncomfortably close to his body. "I told you to keep quiet!"

Hermione felt a physical revulsion at being in such proximity to him, seeing his stained teeth and stringy hair hanging flat from his scalp, and she tried to pull her arm away from him, but he wouldn't let go.

"Voldemort! Voldemort!" she threw at him, just to be spiteful. "I'm not afraid of him, you know. I've seen him, and he's nothing but a pitiful old man, more than half dead already. But of course you know that. You were there, too!"

Snape thrust her away from him then, using such force that she stumbled back against the desk. "You little fool! Do you not realize the damage you are doing?"

"Me!" she cried. "What damage I'm doing! What about you! What did you and your friends do to me and my friends!"

"Get over it, Miss Granger!" he retorted scathingly. "You're here, you're alive, you have all of your faculties intact! You can consider yourself lucky."

"Lucky? I'm lucky that I was kidnapped and tortured?"

"You are lucky that--" Snape stopped himself abruptly and turned away, paced a few steps, then turned back amidst a whirl of robes. His face was devoid of emotion. "You are lucky," he said flatly. "Leave it at that."

"I won't leave it at that, because it's a lie," she shot back.

"You will have to leave it at that, because we will not discuss it again. Ever. You may go."

She glared at him for a moment, then, scowling, she heaved the door open and ran out.

+++000+++000+++

"There you are!" Harry greeted Hermione when he entered the common room. "What happened to you? You just disappeared. What did Dumbledore say?"

Hermione didn't look up from her book. "He didn't say anything."

"What do you mean?"

Hermione shifted in her chair. "He wasn't there."

"Wasn't there?" Harry threw himself down across the sofa opposite Hermione's chair, sending out a small puff of leather- and wool-scented air. He'd been at Quidditch practice.

"No, I just waited in his office all period."

Harry laughed. "So Snape sent you up there, hoping you'd get expelled or something, and you just ended up getting out of his class? That's great!"

Hermione snorted.

"Fifty points was pretty harsh, though, even for Snape."

"Mm-hm," Hermione agreed, not looking at Harry. She had understood the fifty points. They were the fifty points he hadn't taken from her for being out alone on the grounds the other night.

A squeal from the other side of the common room caused both their heads to turn. "Won-Won!" Lavender threw herself at Ron, who had just come through the portrait hole, his ears and cheeks red from cold.

Hermione snapped her book shut. "I'm going to bed," she said, throwing a dark look in their direction. "Good night, Harry."

+++000+++000+++

"Either she goes, or I do!"

"Who?" Dumbledore blinked innocently at Snape. He removed his travelling cloak and tossed it in the direction of the coatrack near the night-blackened window; it found its place on the hook automatically.

"You know perfectly well who I am referring to," Snape said peevishly. "The Granger girl."

"Ah, yes. Tea?" The Headmaster gestured to the pot on a quaint little side table which was even at the moment filling with steaming water.

Snape snorted and began pacing the room.

Dumbledore settled himself down in the yellow chiffon armchair near the fire. The table with the teapot toddled over. "Have you spoken to her as I recommended?" he inquired politely.

"I have spoken to her," Snape ground out, "but it was a senseless waste of time. She refuses to listen to reason."

Dumbledore cocked an eyebrow at him. "You are not supposed to reason with her."

"What then?"

"Ask for her forgiveness." Dumbledore watched the teapot pour a dose of its contents into the china teacup he held balanced on a saucer.

Snape stopped pacing and exclaimed, "Out of the question! I don't need her to forgive me! Let her think me a monster. It will only be of use for your plans."

The Headmaster's brow furrowed slightly. "I disagree with you, but let us leave that aside for the moment. It is important, for her health and well-being -- and yours as well -- that she hear those words from you."

Snape resumed his prowling about. "She should be grateful she didn't end up like the other girl," he muttered, "instead of stirring up trouble."

"Trouble?" Dumbledore inquired, taking a sip of his tea.

"She is a danger!" Snape exploded. "She all but announced to the entire class that-- what happened!"

"That you violated her?" Dumbledore questioned, his blue eyes now latched onto Severus like a pitbull's teeth in a rabbit's neck.

Snape clenched his hands spasmodically at his sides. "That is not how it was, and you know it," he managed to spit out through clenched teeth.

"That is precisely how it was," Dumbledore corrected him.

"I tried to protect her as far as I could!" Snape said defensively. "If I hadn't done it, I would have been killed!"

"Perhaps," Dumbledore acknowledged with a slight inclination of his head and gazed into the fire. "Perhaps that would have been better, in the long run," he added, as an afterthought.

All colour drained from Snape's face. "Perhaps it would have been," he said without emotion. "I was under the impression that you needed me for your last act. I am sorry if I was mistaken."

Dumbledore focussed on Snape again and seemed to jerk back into himself. "Oh, Severus, that's not what I meant, not what I meant at all," he said irritably. "As I told you before, Tom was very clever to involve you in his plans as he did. He is killing you, even so!" His eyes flashed with displeasure.

"In other words, my existence is no longer of any import."

"Severus!" Dumbledore reprimanded him sharply. "You are very important! And not just for the role you may -- and I hope it never comes to that, but, yes -- that you may have to play. If all goes well, however, you can redeem yourself in the eyes of the world. And," he added more softly, "I hope in your own as well."

"Enough," Severus hissed. "What are we going to do about the girl?"

"What do you suggest?"

"Remove her from my class," Snape demanded shortly.

"If you are worried about rumours, that is a sure way of fanning the fires."

"Then you must talk to her, impress upon her the importance of her keeping up appearances. This simply cannot continue. She has to get over it, forget about it."

"Severus. Have you ever gotten over all the hurt that has been dealt you in your life? Have you ever forgotten a single slight, a single insult?"

Snape turned his back on his employer and stared at his own dark reflection in the window. "I've dealt with it. She will have to deal with this, and worse, before it is all over."

"I certainly hope not," Dumbledore said sincerely, and watched Snape over the rim of his teacup.

+++000+++000+++

"Good morning," a pretty young woman with short brown hair and glasses said, pulling up another chair beside Lisa's bed. "I'm Theresa Goodwin. Mrs. Turpin told me you were a friend of Lisa's?"

Hermione smiled and shook her hand. "Hello, I'm Hermione Granger."

Lisa was lying, serene as ever, asleep in her hospital bed.

"It's nice to meet you, Hermione," the Goodwin woman said. "I'm Lisa's therapist, but unfortunately, I haven't been able to talk to her much yet." She smiled regretfully.

"Mrs. Turpin told me the doctors are keeping her sedated to help her brain recover."

"She's had wakeful periods in the later afternoons," the therapist offered. "Perhaps if you're able to come see her then...?"

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, "I can't today. Maybe next week? It's just that I attend a boarding school, and I can only get permission to visit on Sunday mornings."

"I understand. You're at the same school as Lisa, then?"

"Mm-hm." Hermione nodded, hoping that she didn't ask any more detailed questions.

"It's very kind of you to come and see her, knowing that she's under sedation."

Hermione shrugged uncomfortably. "I-- I would have felt bad, knowing she's lying here all alone." To tell the truth, that wasn't the entire reason for her visits; she also found a sense of stillness and peace watching the sleeping girl, sharing vicariously in her escape from consciousness.

"You must be very close to her, then."

Hermione felt a prickly discomfort. "I didn't know her very well at all," she admitted.

"Oh." It was a neutral sound, more an acknowledgment of her having heard the statement than anything else. Nevertheless, Hermione felt the pressure of the unasked question weighing on her.

"I was-- I was there. When Lisa...was attacked." She wasn't sure how much the therapist knew of the circumstances; how much the doctors knew, but she felt she should stick as close to the truth as she could, as she had when she had talked to Mrs. Turpin the previous week.

"You were," the therapist echoed, again, neutrally.

Then, realizing that what she had said could be interpreted in two ways, Hermione hastened to add, "I mean, I was also--" She stopped and looked away. "I'm not supposed to talk about it," she said, her throat suddenly dry.

"You don't have to, if you don't want to," Goodwin assured her. After a moment, she probed gently, "Did someone tell you not to say anything?"

Hermione shook her head and looked at her hands. She'd already said too much. It was supposed to be kept secret.... If word got out, there would be panic, they'd close Hogwarts-- But this was a Muggle. She wasn't in a position to have any influence in the wizarding world.

"Hermione," the woman asked softly, "have you talked to anyone about what happened? The police? A friend?"

Hermione shook her head again, fighting back the tears that were threatening to burst forth.

"If you want, you can talk to me. I won't tell anyone, I promise. Unless you want me to."

Hermione wanted desperately to let it all come out. Up until now, it had been fine with her to hide what had happened. She hadn't been ready to tell anyone, anyway. Putting on a facade of normalcy had been her coping mechanism. By not acknowledging the attack to anyone, she had avoided acknowledging it to herself as well.

"I... " Hermione took a deep breath and whispered, gazing tremulously into Theresa Goodwin's kind face, "I was raped."

+++000+++000+++

AN: I don't know if I came up with the Fireballs myself or not...I think I did, but it could be I read that in someone else's fan fic. If so, thanks whoever you are and cheers!