A Capacity for Love

Chapter 24

Seeing Things from the Other Point of View

Dear Hermione,

How are you? That's a dumb question, I know. I don't know how else to start. I'm doing much better. The doctors at the hospital (the regular hospital, not St. Mungo's) found a medicine that's helping me a lot. I haven't had any seizures in 2 weeks. I still get tired a lot, though. I feel like a big, spoiled cat, lying about the house and dropping off to sleep whenever I feel like it!

I'm not coming back. I guess you knew that. I'm getting ready to sit my GCSEs in June. My parents registered me as being home-schooled. Now I really have to study to catch up!

Have you heard anything from Sandy? I didn't know she was pregnant. Sally told me. I guess that's one thing to be thankful for out of all this. That I didn't get pregnant, I mean. I don't know what I would have done.

It's funny, you know, I don't know if it's the pills or some side-effect of the spells that were cast on me, but I hardly remember anything. Even the time I spent in the hospital is very fuzzy. It's like a dream I can't quite remember, except in bits and pieces sometimes. I guess that's a good thing, too. I do remember you visiting me a lot. We talked, didn't we? I don't remember what about. I enjoyed your visits. I wanted you to know that.

It would be wonderful if you could come and visit me sometime, when term is over. I'd like to keep in touch with you.

Love,

Lisa

Hermione carefully folded the note and slid it into her desk. She'd answer it later. Of course she would. Just not now. She had no words. It wasn't that she didn't like her, but she could feel Lisa's outstretched hand through the thin Muggle stationery, grasping for her, trying to pull her close and ensnare her in a ... friendship? Co-dependency? She didn't have anything more to give. She couldn't be whatever it was that Lisa was asking for. Maybe she wasn't asking for anything. Maybe she was simply being polite.

It didn't seem like such a huge drain on her at the time, but telling Ron had drawn everything out of her and left her empty. It wasn't even that she'd said very much. Certainly no details. But the act of sharing the burden (yes, now Ron bore a part of it and would never be the same again) had left her with absolutely no interest in talking about it any more. It was as if a valve had been opened, and the pent-up anxiety over telling someone which had been building up over the past couple of weeks had been released, leaving the old, familiar hole. Only it wasn't the same hole. It wasn't something she had to avoid looking into because it was so deep and unfathomable; it was simply uninteresting. A jagged grey space, hanging flaccid in her soul.

It was funny how things had turned out. She'd sworn at the outset never to tell anyone. Then, when Teresa suggested she confide in one close friend she could trust, she'd chosen Harry. The Chosen One, ha. She'd thought he'd be more reasonable, less prone to fly off the handle. Best-laid plans.

How in the world had she ended up spilling things to Ron, of all people? After she'd spent the better part of the last four months avoiding him in particular, because she had been afraid of disillusioning him regarding her. And then she'd told him specifically in order to disillusion him, to disabuse him of any notion he might have that she was still worthy of being the object of his affections. She wasn't sure, now, whether she'd achieved that. Ron had handled it extremely well, once he'd gotten over the inital shock, she had to admit. There was no sign of revulsion toward her, no sense of disgust. He'd taken his best stab at being supportive. And then Madam Pomfrey had popped round to tell her visiting hours were over and shooed her out, Ron calling after her to come by again any time, to which she had given a noncommittal 'sure' in reply.

She couldn't go back. The whole thing would be too awkward. Should they talk about the state of Ron's liver, or the fact that Hermione had been raped? Quidditch or Death Eaters? Of course, she'd see Ron all too soon when he was released at the end of the week and he returned to Gryffindor tower. But at least then there would be lots of other people around to run interference for her, not the least of whom would be Lavender.

She didn't imagine Lavender would allow Ron to be alone with Hermione for even a second, which suited Hermione fine. Surely even Ron wouldn't bring it up in public. He really seemed to understand - if not the depth of the horror of what had happened, then at least how sensitive and personal a topic it was. Not like being Petrified by a basilisk or bitten by a poisonous snake. Those were things to be marveled over and discussed in excited tones late into the night before the common room fire. Rape was a conversation-stopper, not for polite company, a dirty word that tainted the mouth and reputation of anyone who uttered it. Ron knew the difference.

He didn't go around chatting with everyone about Ginny's possession by Tom Riddle back in their second year, either. No one did. It was something so horrific and foul that everyone preferred not to even think about it having happened. Hermione had to admit she hadn't given it more than a passing thought herself: Oh, Voldemort was the one making Ginny do those things. Well, that makes sense. Gosh, he's pretty scummy. That was about as far as most people got, if they even stopped to think about it at all.

But now that she thought of it more, what Riddle had done to Ginny amounted to nothing less than mind rape. He had invaded her mind without her permission, had taken it over by force so he could use her for his purposes. How violated she must have felt! How utterly filthy and helpless! How can you scrub your mind clean of something like that? To know that someone else, a depraved and twisted monster, had been inside your head... Hermione wondered that Ginny was as resilient as she seemed to be.

Did she also have nightmares? Had she lost her ability to trust others? Did she feel an unwilling disgust whenever someone tried to get close to her? She seemed to be happy and normal. She had had boyfriends; true, maybe a few more than most other girls her age, but all of the relationships appeared outwardly healthy and age-appropriate. It was also true it had happened four years ago. Ginny had been much younger then, pre-pubescent. Maybe her immature brain had simply recovered that much more easily. Or maybe she bore her scars differently than Hermione did.

All of them had come out of it differently: Lisa, Sandy, Oonagh, Hermione ... All of them developing different strategies for coping. They were coping. She was coping. She hadn't felt like it for a long time, but Hermione looked at where she was now and saw that she was still functioning. She hadn't been destroyed by it. She had been changed, yes, but not destroyed.

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During dinner that evening, Hermione found herself sneaking glances at Ginny. She'd never really paid much attention to Ron's younger sister. Ginny had her friends, and they didn't overlap with Hermione's at all. Scratch that; Ginny had lots of friends, was popular with both boys and girls. Hermione didn't have any friends other than Harry and Ron, and she didn't feel particularly close to either of them at the moment.

She might have been jealous of Ginny, but she'd never really wanted to be part of that whole social scene. She was happy (well, not unhappy, at any rate) simply to go to classes, do what was expected of her, and not be distracted from pursuing her own interests. She'd sort of fallen in with Harry and Ron, but they didn't actually demand much from her. Aside from the few intense episodes of murder and mayhem they'd been involved in over the past five-and-a-half years, it wasn't like she spent every waking moment with them. Not like some of the girls tended to do with their cliques.

Hermione had never exactly felt she was missing out on anything, even if she had always been aware of the differences between herself and girls like Ginny in terms of popularity. But now, she watched Ginny with different eyes. Was she really enjoying the attention she got? Or was she putting on a good show to hide the damage inside? Hermione supposed that was one way to go: pretend so hard you're happy and full of warmth, that eventually you believe it yourself.

In any case, she didn't see any sign that Ginny was faking it, or that she might really be deeply insecure or unhappy. Hermione felt a slight bitterness at that. It would be typical: not only was Ginny pretty and talented, but she was able to get over the awful experience with Voldemort without bearing any emotional scars.

Hermione looked away quickly when she realized Ginny had caught her watching her. Embarrassed, she got up, mumbling something about having homework to do, and left.

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It had been a bad night for Snape. Of course, it was never a good night when one was Summoned to a meeting of Death Eaters. But this one had been particularly horrible. He'd actually thought the Dark Lord was going to kill Draco. Luckily, Narcissa hadn't been there, or he felt sure she would have added just that bit of screeching feminine emotion which would have pushed Voldemort over the edge.

Lord Voldemort did not exactly have a soft spot for expressions of maternal protectiveness.

As it was, he'd barely been able to restrain himself from coming to the boy's defense, in the end. The entire time, he'd been acutely aware of the burden of the Vow on him. As long as Draco was in no mortal danger, Snape felt no compunction to act. But if he knowingly allowed the youth to be killed, if he could have done something to prevent it, he felt no doubt the Vow would claim its due. It wasn't that he would have minded dropping dead on the spot, per se; but if he were gone, he was all too aware of how vulnerable Dumbledore would be, and, by extension, Potter and the entire wizarding world. Again, not that he particularly cared what happened to Potter, but there was this whole bloody prophecy to be reckoned with. And he still - damn him for a sentimental fool - didn't want to let Dumbledore down.

As it was, Voldemort settled for an unimaginative bout of Crucios and Legilimency, to ascertain whether Draco wasn't simply stalling for time on behalf the Order. Having assured himself that young Malfoy was simply incompetent and not a traitor, he sent a contingent out to bother the Montgomerys. The mother was well-placed in the Ministry, in addition to having a sizable fortune. Snape had been spared, though, given direction instead to take Malfoy back to Hogwarts and patch him up before lessons began in the morning.

Snape had to Side-Along Draco, who was in no condition to Apparate, being only half-conscious, and now he was more or less dragging him the remainder of the way up to the castle.

He took the side entrance, which led directly down to the dungeons, then brought Draco to Snape's own private room and settled him on the settee before going to gather the necessary potions from his personal supplies.

When he returned, it looked as if Draco had slipped out of consciousness, or maybe he had merely fallen asleep.

"Draco! Wake up!" Snape snapped, pinching the boy's arm. He didn't want to have to call Madam Pomfrey into this.

Draco groaned, then gagged a bit. Snape stepped back, wand hovered to clean up whatever was about to happen before it hit his shoes. Draco was able to get his stomach under control, however, and turned onto his back, breathing shallowly.

"When you're quite ready, sit up and drink this," Snape ordered, holding out a small green vial.

Draco merely groaned again in reply.

"It won't get any better like that. This is an analgesic and antiemetic potion of my own making. I have found it adequate. Here."

Draco reached out his hand to take the vial, bringing it to his lips with shaky fingers. He managed to get most of it in; a thin dribble of the clear liquid ran down his chin onto his robes unchecked.

"You may rest there while I clean up. I expect you to be gone when I return."

"Help..." Draco burbled.

"That is all the help you will receive from me tonight. You must be back in your dormitory by sunrise, or there will be questions." Snape regarded the pitiful wreck of a young man with distaste. At the same time, he realized with a start that this exact scene had played out already, twenty years earlier; only back then, he had been the miserable, prostrated figure, and it had been Lucius Malfoy with the ready potion and meagre sympathy.

"No... help... Mother," Draco managed weakly.

"Your mother is in no danger, Draco," Snape said with a weary sigh. Somehow, she had managed to walk the thin line between the two sides without drawing fire from either one. A consummate Slytherin.

"No... please!" Draco righted himself, wincing at the dizziness which was no doubt gripping him at the moment. "I can't do it. You know it. You have to protect my mother."

"It will not come to that."

"It will! He'll kill her to get back at me!"

"No, he will not," Snape insisted sharply, although privately he thought perhaps the Dark Lord might just. Not personally, perhaps; but the order could well be given to someone who wanted desperately to prove their value to the Death Eater organization. Or to someone whose loyalty needed to be tested. Narcissa was nothing to Voldemort. Killing her would break Lucius forever. But it might just have the opposite effect on Draco. If Voldemort killed his mother, Draco was young and reckless enough to try and exact revenge; it might be just what he needed to send him running to Dumbledore's lap.

"Take the Vow! Swear you'll protect her!" The potion seemed to be taking effect: Draco was steadier now, following Snape with fiery eyes.

"I have always taken care of your family, Draco!" Snape said. "What I did for your mother was a special circumstance, a personal favor, but had no effect on my actions then or since. I would have helped you either way, you know that. You do not need to exact a mortal Vow from me to assure yourself of my loyalties."

"I know, I know," Draco said miserably. "I'm sorry, I don't know what else to do."

Was this the moment? Could he suggest Draco defect, ask the Order for protection? It would mean exposing himself. But it might just save Draco.

"You don't need to do it, Draco," Snape began, trying to speak with the gentleness and compassion he had heard in the past from Dumbledore; it came out sounding merely stilted and cold.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked suspiciously.

"If you don't have it in you... it could be arranged... someone else might ..." Blast it all to pieces! He wasn't prepared for this conversation.

"What could be arranged? A convenient accident? Is that what you're getting at?"

"Something like that," Snape murmured.

"What do you think I've been doing all this time?" Draco exploded. "I've been trying to come up with an accident! It's not so easy, you know! Can't exactly walk up to him during breakfast and drop the poison in his cup, can I? I'm sure you could, but it doesn't do any good if I'm not the one to arrange it. You saw what he did to me tonight. He can read my thoughts! He'll know if I didn't do it. He'd punish me and my mother anyway, even if Dumbledore dies and I wasn't the one who arranged it, no matter how it ends up being done.

"Just... forget it. Thanks for the potion," Draco said bitterly as he stood, tossing the empty vial at Snape.

Oh, that went exceedingly well, Snape thought sourly to himself after Draco had left. At least he'd managed not to rack up another Unbreakable Vow to his name.

The irony of his position was not lost on him. He was supposed to be both the carrot and the stick to Draco, Dumbledore and Malfoy, the caring mentor and the heartless general who kept sending the wounded soldiers back to the front line. He was comfortable with neither role.

Thinking of the repetition and reversals of roles, he wondered for a moment how Dumbledore saw himself in all this. To Snape, he had always seemed consummately self-assured, very nearly to the point of arrogance, yet possessed of a very real compassion, a trait which Snape found himself lacking completely. At the same time, however, there was something of the heartless general in him as well. He knew what he was asking of Severus; what he had asked of him already, and of others, too. The Prewett boys, the Longbottoms, even Potter himself. Was he uncomfortable with that role? Did he agonize over the things he'd done? Had he also spent all or nearly all of his adult life trying to make up for follies in his youth? And finally, if Dumbledore's life was not really all that different from Snape's own... did that mean, were Snape to survive this endeavour, that he would end up asking his own protege, Draco Malfoy perhaps, to end his life at some point in the future?

Maybe Dumbledore was as tired as Snape was already. Possibly he was looking forward to the release of death, much as Snape was. No more obligations. No more Vows, no more fools to protect, no more horrendous tasks to be undertaken, no more murders, no more justifications or intrigues or hiding or lies; no more pretending. Freedom.

Seen like that, it was, after all, the least he could do.

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Author's note: Draco's fears were obviously unfounded. Voldemort didn't check his memories to see whether he was the one to AK Dumbledore. It was enough that Draco had arranged for the invasion of Hogwarts. At least as far as I recall DH.

Please don't jump all over me for saying that Dumbledore has real compassion. I believe that he does, that he does feel and suffer along with those whom he puts in a difficult situation. (Com-passion = suffer with) That is the big difference between a Dumbledore and a Voldemort, to whom other people are truly pawns in every way, right down to him believing that they are as emotionless and unable to suffer as are pieces of wood or stone. Voldemort is a sociopath who has a complete inability to comprehend the fact of emotion in others and quite probably in himself, either. Dumbledore may also use others as pawns, but I think that he has a heart and feels every blow keenly. However, he is a Gryffindor, not a Hufflepuff. He is not ruled by his emotions. Remember the motto he and Grindelwald came up with: For the greater good. I think he is still living by that. And 'greater' means the big picture. People may get hurt or killed in the process.