Augury & Ardor

“Who’s going to tell Hermione?” Ginny asked, gazing at the weary faces of those gathered around the table.


“I think it best it come from me,” Professor Dumbledore said, rising to his feet. “I urge the rest of you to stay and get some rest. Harry. . . Ron. . . the search for the Horcruxes can continue once you’ve had some sleep. I have a feeling Lord Voldemort and his followers will scatter until they can recoup their losses. We’ve bought some time with tonight’s skirmish.”


“Tell me what?” Hermione asked from the doorway, her eyes wide as she took in the tired and dirty faces of the group gathered around the table.


“Why don’t we go into the sitting room, my dear?” Dumbledore suggested, meeting her at the threshold.


Her eyes shot from the Headmaster to Remus, then over at Arthur Weasley before stopping on Harry. Each of the men lowered their eyes, causing her hand to convulse on the doorframe. “Tell me.”


“I think it best you sit down and -” Dumbledore reached out to grasp her elbow and guide her from the room.


“I’ve been waiting three months for news,” Hermione ground out, her fingers closing over Professor Dumbledore’s arm. “If you have any mercy, you’ll tell me now.”


“He’s alive,” the elderly professor hurried to support Hermione when she visibly buckled, “but he’s not well.”


“Where is he?” She didn’t protest as she was led to the table and seated.


“St. Mungo’s,” Dumbledore said kindly, resting a hand on her shoulder to urge her to stay seated. “It appears as if he was subjected to the Cruciatus Curse for a prolonged period of time.”


“I want to see him.”


Hermione started to rise, only to have Dumbledore press her back into a sitting position. “Your visit will have to wait until tomorrow. Those hours were over long ago.”


“But is he safe there?” Hermione asked in agitation. “If Voldemort can get inside the Ministry, surely he can get inside St. Mungo’s.”


“I assure you, I have taken extra precautions for his safety.”

Seemingly satisfied with his assurance, she searched the Headmaster’s face. “They tortured him, didn’t they . . . to find out where I am – where Sepharus is?"


“That would be the most likely explanation,” Dumbledore admitted with a sad nod of his head. “Although I’m sure it was also meant as a punishment; I’m just as sure the reason he’s still alive is because he had information Voldemort wanted.”


“How bad is he?” Hermione asked hesitantly, both afraid to hear and unable to endure not knowing.


“With care and proper nourishment, I have no doubt he’ll quickly recover physically.” Dumbledore paused to clasp his hands and formulate his thoughts into words. “It’s hard to predict his mental state. He was and remains unresponsive. Only time will tell if his mind was broken.”


Hermione’s eyes flew to Neville Longbottom. She couldn’t bear the profound expression of empathy in his gaze. She couldn’t bear to look at any of them for fear of seeing that look of resignation and sympathy in their eyes. Rising to her feet, she stared at Professor Dumbledore’s shoulder. “I want to see him first thing tomorrow.”


“Of course.” Professor Dumbledore watched as she walked from the room, shoulders back and head high, before trading a concerned look with Remus. “She’ll need an escort, of course. While Voldemort and his followers took damage this evening, those still able will be on the look out for her. Knowing we’ve recovered Severus, they’ll expect a trip to St. Mungo’s. The protections I cast only cover so much area.”


“I’ll take her,” Harry and Ron said almost simultaneously.


“It is ever more important you two find the remaining Horcruxes,” Professor Dumbledore said, turning to them. “Rest assured Remus and Nymphadora will ensure her safety in the short term while you find the means to ensure it for the long term.”


Although neither young man seemed happy about it, both accepted the wisdom of Professor Dumbledore’s words and refrained from arguing.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Hermione was glad of Remus' hand under her arm. Although she’d expected to find Severus altered, she hadn’t anticipated how drastically. The pale olive cast to his skin had turned sallow and sickly, contrasting starkly against the white sheet pulled to his chest.


His face was shockingly thin, making his long, hooked nose all the more prominent. What weakened her legs most, however, was the seemingly permanent expression of torment on his face. Gone was his signature sneer. In its place were lines etching a story of prolonged suffering.


The thought of what he’d endured made her lean into Remus for a moment. Then, disgusted by her own weakness in the face of the strength Severus had shown, she straightened and braced her shoulders. “Thank you, Remus. I’ll call you when I’m ready to leave.”


They’d placed Severus in a private room due to the security measures Professor Dumbledore had taken. She was glad of it; she didn’t think she’d have been able to have to trade niceties with anyone. As it was, her hands were shaking.


Resting the basket containing Sepharus on the nightstand, Hermione sat on the edge of the bed. The movement sent a ripple of reaction across her husband's face and tears sprung to her eyes at his recoiling wince.


Reaching out, she took one of his limp hands in hers and caressed it gently. “Severus, it’s me, Hermione.” His reaction to that was even more alarming. At her words, his face went as still and blank as a statue’s. “Severus?” She gently traced her fingers across his cheek. “I – I wanted to let you know I’m safe. We’re safe, the baby and I.”


Other than the shallow rise and fall of his chest, he could have been made of marble. “He was born on the first of November at midnight. He was seven and a half pounds and nearly twenty-one inches, and he’s grown so much since then! He weighs nearly double that now. When I lay him down, he lifts his head and looks around to follow my voice.”


She knew it was probably her imagination, but she was struck by the notion his stillness had changed. At first, it had seemed as if he were retreating into it, but now it felt as if he was listening. “I named him Sepharus. It means ‘scribe’. He’s very smart and he’s also very active. He gets frustrated when he can’t get what he’s reaching for, and makes this hilarious “aaaaarrr” sound, as if he was a little pirate. And when he does get hold of something he wants, his grip is amazingly strong! He’s ripped out my hair more than once when he’s gotten a handful.”


Hermione paused and studied Severus’ drawn face. Once again, she was struck by the attentive air to his motionless form. “I brought him with me to meet you,” she said, leaning over to gather Sepharus into her arms. The baby let out a soft sigh that barely stirred the air and remained asleep. “If you’d just open your eyes, you could see him,” she tempted.


She waited a moment in the hope that it wasn’t just her imagination and he had been listening – that he’d open his eyes and look at his son. When there was no change, not even movement behind his eyelids, she deflated. “Well, don’t worry about that now,” she said, attempting to keep the sorrow from her voice, “you need your rest. I can describe him to you.”


Gazing down at her son, she smiled at his sleeping features. “He’s got my awful hair, I’m afraid. I told Ginny he reminds me of a Pygmy Puff sometimes, the way it stands out from his head. He’s got your eyes, though: black as night and just as penetrating. When he looks at you, it’s like he’s looking inside you, not just at you. And he’s remarkably attentive for three months; he’ll sit and study something for such a long time you’d think he was memorizing it.” She looked back up at Severus. “I won’t tell you whose nose he got. That’ll be your incentive to get well, so you can see for yourself.”


She sat there silently, just studying the wasted man beside her. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been his usual formidable self, eyes snapping with impatience and his expression disdainful. It was hard to equate that man with the one lying in the bed. He looked like a worn, older version of himself.


After she’d found the note from Professor McGonagall so many months ago, she’d tried to let him know in subtle ways that she knew he remained loyal to the Order. Although it had taken her some time to realize it, she’d guessed that their conversations weren’t private. Rather than risk them both just to let him know that she admired and respected him, she’d held her tongue. Instead, she had merely made an extra effort to be nice to him.


While he was polite to her for the most part, he’d remained formal up until the last day she’d been with him. She would have almost begun to doubt they’d shared a physical relationship had it not been for the undeniable evidence of her pregnancy. Without the physical relationship between them, he’d once again become the closed, self-contained man she’d known from her years at Hogwarts.


It was evident that once he’d discharged his duties to Voldemort and The Order, he had no desire to continue their intimacy. That one day she’d misunderstood his familiar order to get into bed as a desire to continue that aspect of their relationship, he’d made it crystal clear she’d been wrong. Fool that she was, she’d silently yearned for him all those months he was remote and coolly polite.


She yearned for him still.


The morning light had shifted across the bed and Hermione snapped back to the present with the realization she’d kept Remus and Tonks waiting quite a long time. Once Sepharus was back in his basket, she laid a hand over Severus’. “I wanted to say thank you for what you did - for sending Sepharus and me to safety – and to tell you how sorry I am that I was the cause of all the pain you had to endure. I wish there was something I could do to repay you – a way I could, somehow, take the pain away…take it back…”


Tears threatened to strangle her words, but she swallowed past them and said in what she hoped was a cheerful, brisk tone, “When you’re better, we’ll talk about that again. I’ll be back. . . Sepharus and I will be back, soon, to visit you.”


Even knowing it was ridiculous, she hesitated in the doorway and searched for some sign of consciousness in him. Then, Sepharus let out a thin, sleepy wail and she exited the room, quietly pulling the door shut behind her. As she’d anticipated, Sepharus’ initial fuss soon became the loud and lusty cries he used to announce his hunger. With a smile of apology to Remus and Tonks, she told them she was ready to leave.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


“What’s that he just said?” the young mediwitch asked with a startled look. Her hands froze in the act of tucking fresh covers around the patient’s feet.


The second, older mediwitch finished arranging the wizard’s head back on his pillow, but her expression was also surprised. The man they were tending, from what they’d heard, had been tortured for months. Other patients of theirs who had suffered similar fates had yet to speak after years of care. “Sounded like ‘mine’.”


“We should tell someone.”


The older witch nodded and hurried from the room. The younger witch finished smoothing the covers with trembling hands, trying to remain calm. She jumped back and fled the room, forgetting professionalism, when the gaunt, dark-haired wizard on the bed let out a second tortured moan, turning the word ‘mine’ into something full of eerie longing.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


Hermione sat curled in one of the library’s chairs, a book opened but forgotten on her lap. By her side, on a low table, rested a crystal goblet. She reached out and tapped it for the second time that evening with her new wand. Although she missed her old Ollivander’s wand, the new one was working perfectly; the nearly empty goblet quickly refilled with wine. With a grim smile, she brought the goblet to her lips and drank.


For the moment, she was alone. Members of the Order were always coming and going, but the few in attendance at number twelve, Grimmauld Place that evening had gone upstairs looking for a good night’s sleep. After her visit with Severus, Hermione was too pensive to consider lying down. She’d asked Ginny to babysit Sepharus for the evening and had left them to their slumber while she sought respite in a book and some wine.


She was disappointed to find, instead of the wine making her tired, she felt just as awake but even more despondent than she had earlier. Logically, she knew Severus was unlikely to make a rapid recovery. Because she wanted it so badly, however, she’d allowed herself to briefly believe that he’d been conscious on some level during her visit. The truth was, even if he had been conscious, it didn’t mean he’d be aware of who or where he was. The Longbottoms had proven that the Cruciatus Curse, applied for any length of time, could cause long-term repercussions.


Despite that, she wouldn’t – couldn’t – consider that he was lost to her forever.


Another drink of wine had her leaning back in the chair and lifting her hair from her neck. It wasn’t making her tired, but it was definitely making her warm. Once she’d unbuttoned her jumper and trapped her hair up behind her head and the chair’s cushion, she felt a bit more comfortable.


The earthy tang of the wine on her tongue combined with the warm lassitude in her limbs conspired to remind her of the night she’d lost her virginity. She had felt overly warm that night, too, as if she might spontaneously combust under his hands. A blush suffused her cheeks as she remembered how she’d reacted to him from that first moment.


If he’d been consistent in anything, it had been in generating a response from her no matter how unwilling she was to give it to him. His voice alone had been enough to melt her reserve on some days. It was her luck that once she’d found out he was loyal to the Order and could have enjoyed his touch without guilt, their physical relationship had already ended.


She would have never believed herself passionate or sensual until he’d proven her so. Until he’d touched her, she’d never given sex much thought. Now, she thought with a heavy sigh, it’s all I think about. His hands on me. His mouth. His weight on me. Moving over me. In me. He’d awakened her, sexually, and then abandoned her.


“Hey, Hermione.”


Hermione opened her eyes and saw Ron standing in the doorway, looking endearingly unsure of himself. They hadn’t talked much since she’d returned; he’d seemed uncomfortable in her presence.


“Hi, Ron,” she said with a genuine smile of pleasure. She missed him, his clownish humor and the easy camaraderie they’d once shared. “Where’s The Chosen One?”


Ron grinned at her affectionate mockery. “He's chosen to go off to bed.”


“Any luck?” she asked out of routine.


His grin widened and he stood straighter. “As a matter of fact, we’re pretty sure we found another. We left it with Professor Dumbledore to check.”


“Ron!” Hermione cried with joy, launching herself at him. “That’s wonderful!”


“Too right!” he agreed, hugging her with equal enthusiasm.


It only took a moment for the hug to subtly change. What was born of joy transitioned into something different - something more poignant. Ron’s arms tightened around her and his cheek came to rest against the top of her head. “Hermione, I nearly went berserk when you went missing.”


“I know,” she replied, relaxing into his familiar embrace, relieved that their relationship wasn’t irreparably damaged. “It killed me to know you were all worrying.”


“Not knowing what had happened – if you were alive or dead…” He pulled back to bracket her face in his hands and gaze down at her. “Hermione, I missed you so much.”


“I missed you, too.” Before she’d even finished forming the words, it dawned on her that the embrace represented something completely different to him. She realized what was going to happen, yet consciously decided to allow it.


He lowered his head and brushed his lips across hers. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she merely stood there, swept back to a more innocent time - the time they’d spent together at The Burrow - and the familiar warmth of his shy kisses. When she didn’t protest, he kissed her again with more insistence.

Still, she didn’t stop him. Some detached part of her psyche insisted she needed to know if Ron could make her feel what Severus had.


His hands slipped down from her face, one pulling her closer while the other slid over her arm. His mouth slid from hers to move across her cheek. “Hermione…let me help you forget.”


She felt nothing.


Standing there with his mouth trailing along her jaw, her hips fitted to his and his hand stealing under her cardigan, she felt no pull – no desire. Back at The Burrow, had he presumed to cop a feel, she’d have given him a piece of her mind. Now, she let his questing hand find its mark and closed her eyes to better pursue the pleasure she knew should be there.


Do you really think an unfledged boy could satisfy you? She gasped, not because Ron’s hand closed over her breast, but at Severus’ voice insinuating itself between them. Do you think one of those fumbling fools back at school could appreciate your rich sensuality?


“No,” she whispered, pushing against his embrace. “Ron, no.”


Caught up in the moment, Ron hadn’t heard her soft protest. His breath ragged against her neck, he massaged her breast through her bra. “Let me wipe away those memories…”


Your body is like a finely crafted instrument and you’d imagine it in the damp, grasping hands of a callow child – a child more concerned with his own pleasure than learning yours.


“Ron,” Hermione said more forcefully, pulling out of his embrace. “Stop.”


“Hermione, I’ll be gentle. I’ll show you what it’s meant to be like,” he said, stepping toward her again. “I’ll make you forget his touch.”


“You couldn’t,” Hermione said, resolutely.

Misunderstanding her meaning, Ron grasped her hand and gently pulled her back toward him. “Let me try.”


“No, Ron; you don’t understand,” Hermione said, stepping back until a few feet separated them. “I know how it’s meant to be.” His look was part stunned, part confused. She could see him struggling to discount her meaning. With a deep breath, she made herself unmistakably clear. “I don’t want to forget.”


They stood there looking at each other, the silence between them broken only by the crackling of the fire. Finally, Ron shook his head, his expression one of dawning horror. “What did he do to you, Hermione?”


“He didn’t do anything – at least, not like you think.” She crossed her arms as his eyes hardened. It shouldn’t have surprised her, considering their past. Her kissing Krum had caused him to heap recriminations on her head. This wasn’t just a kiss and this wasn’t just any man – it was a professor he hated. “He treated me like a woman.”


“He must have put charms on you. He. . . don’t know. . . He Obliviated your memory and replaced it with. . . with -” Ron sputtered, unable to accept her words at face value.


“Would you like to know how it feels to be me?” she interrupted him sharply, her eyes glittering. “The Brain? The Know It All? Because I’m interested in learning and curious about things, I’m looked on as a freak.” When Ron opened his mouth to protest, she cut him off with a gesture. “Before Krum, no one thought of me as someone to date. The only reason Viktor did was because it was novel, being with a girl who didn’t swoon all over him. Even you took me for granted for years, hardly noticing I was female let alone interesting enough to snog. Poor, awkward Hermione Granger!” she bit out, surprised at how the old hurt was still just below the surface. She crossed her arms, hugging herself. “Odd girl. Doesn’t mind studying. Likes to know things.”


She took a steadying breath and met his eyes with an unflinching gaze. “I don’t intimidate him because he understands my curiosity – my thirst for knowledge. We’re alike in that.” Knowing she was going to hurt him, she continued on despite that. He had to know how she felt so he could move on and leave the past behind them. “He took me because he had no other choice, but he didn’t hesitate or apologize. Instead, he taught me. He taught me to take something in return instead of being merely the victim. He showed me that there was more to me than intellect.”


Ron turned several unflattering shades of red before he stormed away, fists clenched. In the doorway, he nearly collided with Professor Dumbledore, who let him pass without comment. Hermione wondered how long her former Headmaster had been standing there. In the end, she decided it didn’t matter and went back to sink into her chair. So much had changed; she couldn’t pretend to be the old Hermione anymore. Not for her parents, not for her friends – not for anyone.