Triumph Out of the Bitter Taste of Ashes

Several people have raised the idea that my Severus seems overprotective, or perhaps overly caring, of certain of the characters. : ) I thought I\'d take this time to mention, that in my opinion even Canon shows Snape to be very protective ol thl the students, even if he shows it quite hostilely, and certainly not openly. We need only look at his nearly fanatical loathing of what he sees as \"Griffindor bravery\", among other small clues. Of course, this is open to interpretation in other ways, but that\'s how I see it. I always keep in mind that in canon, we see Snape only through the eyes of very young teen/preteen boy who sees everything in black and white, without the shades of grey that we, as adults, can. I also consider the fact that Harry Potter is seeing this grouchy, bitter man through a haze of anger and hate, that is returned fullfold, and just *might* have a skewed view of him.

Just thought you might like to hear my views on that. : ) Anyhoo, on with the fic.

Jaelle -- Thanks! : ) The scene where her eyes glazed over and she then screamed and fainted? That\'s where her memories came rushing back in on her. Draco was the key to opening the floodgates.

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Chapter Fourteen
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Hermione watched the door close behind Madam Pomfrey and Mrs. Annetti, feeling more alone than she could *ever* remember feeling. She wanted to see Harry and Ron. Well, she wanted to want to, actually. Right now it was just impossible. Just the thought of her two friends being in the same room with her was nauseating, as well as a touch frightening.

She gulped, fighting yet another bout of tears. She couldn\'t believe she\'d *completely* forgotten what had happened to her. How? It didn\'t seem possible really, not without a powerful memory charm. Oh, she\'d heard of it. Traumatic Amnesia, it was called. It still seemed a little far fetched when she really thought about it.

Now that she had her memories back, however, she really wished she could go back the innocence she\'d held in not know who she was and what had happened; though, the last few months were pretty much a blur in her mind that she didn\'t really remember much about -- except for Cecily and days of boredom, very *safe* boredom. Safe boredom seemed *really* nice right about now. Safe, ignorant, boredom.

She pushed all of it down. Right now she didn\'t want to deal with any of it. She was here, *home*. She was safe -- if not bored or ignorant, and she supposed that considering which of the three it was; one out of three really wasn\'t all that bad. Resolute about putting trdeardeal behind her, she decided she would ask Madam Pomfrey about getting her text books brought to her. She had a *lot* of catching up to do and she had no delusions what-so-ever about her chances of getting out of the infirmary any time soon. Madam Pomfrey was notorious for keeping patients way longer than *they* felt was strictly necessary.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Hermione rose slowly, swaying as she stood. Her balance seemed all off, like she\'d lain in bed for a very long time. Bracing herself, she took a tentative step forward, quickly grabbing the bedtable as she wobbled. She didn\'t want to fall. That would be the last thing she needed. If she did that, they would all come back, fussing over her, \'helping\' her, trying to get her to \'talk\' about it, and worst of all, trying to make her \'comfortable\'. As if she could ever feel comfortable again. Her skin crawled, itched, like she hadn\'t bathed in weeks. Who could be comfortable with that?

Ignoring the nagging feeling fluttering for attention in the back of her mind that she was forgetting something very important, Hermione continued clinging to the bedtable. She swallowed nervously as she stared longingly at the bathroom door clear across the room. She wanted to bathe so badly! No, she didn\'t want to, she *needed* to. She slowly inched her way carefully across the floor, making sure to stick close to support objects. She wanted privacy, not the awkward presence of people who didn\'t know quite what to say to \'make it all better\'. They all wanted to make it better, and that was the problem.

**It will never be better again!** she thought, wanting to scream it at the empty air around her, wishing they could understand that she didn\'t want their pathetic attempts. All that did was keep bringing back up, made her relive it over and over. According to them, Voldemort was dead, so what happened didn\'t matter anymore, her *ordeal* didn\'t matter to anyone but her. Why couldn\'t they just *forget* it, let her forget it. She had once, maybe she could again.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Hermione reached the bathroom. Moments later, she sank gratefully onto the toilet, her legs threatening rebelliously to never support her again. It wasn\'t until that moment that she realized she had completely forgotten she didn\'t have a wand anymore.

Slowly, unnotict fit first, tears slipped silently down her face, coming faster and faster until she was sobbing uncontrollably. He\'d taken *everything* from her! She had nothing left.

//Such a *brave* Gryffindor,// came a snarly voice in her mind, sounding suspiciously familiar. //Are you sure you weren\'t *missorted*?//

She gasped in outrage, that overwhelming rush of emotion pushing aside everything else. Pushing herself off the toilet, Hermione reached for the counter, and looked into the mirror above the sink. It didn\'t speak, thank everything holy, and she simply stared. There had to be something different about her, some telltale mark that had been left to tell the world what she\'d been through, what she\'d survived. Oh sure, there were the scars on her body of the torture Malfoy had put her through, but that was separate, something that could have been something to be proud of having survived. The other wasn\'t. She\'d *let* him do that to her, just to keep secrets. She hadn\'t fought him. She\'d just lain there, on the ground, and *let* him do what he wanted.

There weren\'t any marks to show that. She looked the same, exactly the same. Well, she was a bit pale, but that was to be expected . . . all things considered. It certainly wasn\'t a permanent mark of any kind. A single sob escaped her as she continued to stare. She could still feel his hands, his body, his-- Why couldn\'t she *see* a difference, if she could feel it? That would make it better, she thought, easier. It would certainly to to have physical proof of her suffering instead of everything looking absolutely fucking *NORMAL*.

She turned desperately toward the bath. There had to be a way to turn it on without her wand. Suddenly remembering Snape\'s counter-cursing in first year, she wondered if she too could do magic without her wand. It wasn\'t something she\'d tried before. Taking a deep breath, she focused, and uttered the words of the activation spell. Grinning in relief when the water flowed at her words, she quickly undressed, letting her clothing fall to untidily the floor.

**

Draco woke with a start, gasping and bolting upright before he took in his surroundings. It took only seconds later for him to realize what had happened. He groaned and flopped back down onto the bed. He couldn\'t *believe* this was happening to him. He\'d fain-- passed out in front of Professor Snape. Merlin help him, but he was sure the man would never let him live that down.

Voices from deeper in the infirmary brought him out of his thoughts, and he listened, even as he feigned sleep.

\"But *why* Madam Pomfrey?\" Ron asked, sounding very hurt, and very angry.

\"I\'m sorry, boys,\" the medi-witch replied firmly. \"She\'s been through quite a trauma, and she\'s simply too tired for visitors right now.\"

\"It\'s all right, Madam Pomfrey,\" Potter replied calmly. \"Come on, Ron, maybe she\'ll see us tomorrow.\"

\"But--\"

\"No buts, Mr. Weasley,\" Madam Pomfrey interjected firmly. \"Out with you both.\"

Ron protested the whole way, but Potter was strangely silent. That surprised Draco. It wasn\'t Ron\'s temper that did it. Draco was well aware of Ron\'s temper . . . he\'d certainly used it against the red-head often enough over the years. What troubled him was Harry\'s very uncharacteristic willingness to do as he was told.

**What does he know?**

Draco didn\'t find any answers by the time both Ron\'s and Potter\'s voices faded as they left the infirmary. Not sure what to do, what to think, he sighed, deeply.

\"Good. You\'re awake, Mr. MalfoyMadaMadam Pomfrey said as she bustled into the room.

Draco\'s eyes snapped open and he glared at the too perky medi-witch. His life was falling apart, didn\'t she know that? How could she talk to him in that too sweet, too happy tone?

\"How are you feeling now?\" she continued, just as brightly, moving closer and running her wand over him in a quick check. \"Better, yes?\"

He stared at her a moment before replying, then nodded slowly. He certainly wasn\'t going to fai-- *pass* *out* again, if that\'s what she meant. \"Yes, Ma\'am,\" he said. \"I was just a little. . . .\"

\"Overwhelmed,\" Madam Pomfrey inserted while Draco tried to search for a word that wasn\'t *too* embarrassing. \"Yes, Mr. Malfoy. It\'s only natural.\"

\"You know?\" he asked, horrified. **Merlin! How many people know?**

\"Now, now, Mr. Malfoy, I\'m not one to be telling tales. No one will hear anything from me.\" She stared at him pointedly, then continued. \"About any of it.\"

Swallowing, grateful beyond belief, Draco nodded. Ron had been amazingly accepting, but somehow he didn\'t think the whole of Hogwarts would be as eager to do so. He\'d be ostracised for sure -- especially if the *whole* truth came out. At that point, he didn\'t think even Ron would be able to abide being near him.

//Oh, and Hermione would be so thrilled with it getting out?//

Draco flinched at that thought. Shifting uncomfortably, still not used to considering others before himself, especially not-- \"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey,\" he said suddenly, cutting off his own chain of thoughts. He didn\'t want to deal with that right that moment. In fact, he\'d really rather not deal with it at all. \"Can I go?\"

**Please!** he pleaded emphatically, no less heartfelt for being silent. He was still highly embarrassed about why he was there in the first place. He\'d acted like a right *girl* and he just wanted to forget it.

Draco left the moment Madam Pomfrey nodded, perversely just as angry with her suddenly sad and understanding expression as he had been, only moments ago, with her cheerfulness. He automatically began heading toward the dungeons, toward the Slytherin dorms, needing to be alone. He hadn\'t made it more than a few feet when he abruptly did an about-face, and headed the opposite direction.

He wanted to be alone, outside. He had to get away from the suddenly suffocating, *looming*, cold stone of the castle walls. He didn\'t breathe easily until he passed through the front door and out onto the castle grounds. Not picking any specific directihe she simply walked, refusing to let himself think about *anything*.

What seemed a short time later, he was quite surprised to find himself once again next to the lake.

**Full circle.**

Shaking his head he sank to the ground, feeling more weary than he could ever remember feeling. The late afternoon sun shown down on him as he let himself take in his surroundings, concentrating on that, rather than the upheaving events of the last several hours. It didn\'t take him long to realize that he\'d chosen to sit in the very same spot as he had earlier.

**I kissed Ron *Weasley* . . . and I think I liked it. I think I *really* liked it.**

Draco blew out an explosive breath. This was definitely an added complication. His eyes lost their focus as he relived the brief kiss. He had to admit, as added complications, it was a far more pleasant one to dwell on than all the others. His breathing quickened as he remembered the feelings that had shot through him the moment Ron Weasley had started to lean forward. Draco had known the instant the red-head had m wha what he was going to do. The problem was, Draco had frozen, conflicting emotions rushing through him -- not the least of which had been a rather surprising dose of longing.

Considering it as objectively as he could, he realized that it had actually been very chaste, all very virginal . . . and all that rot. He had no clue why it had it had affected him so profoundly. His first kiss from a girl certainly hadn\'t affected him that way.

It made him uncomfortable to look at it too closely. He\'d never been attracted to blokes before, not seriously. He\'d been known to occasionally, once or twice, notice a certain appeal. It wasn\'t anything he\'d taken seriously, nor worried overly much about. Now, though, he was finding he had to re-evaluate certain of his priorities. One remained constant, of course, his duty to the Malfoy name. He just wasn\'t sure how he could manage to fit one Ronald Weasley into that. Somehow, he didn\'t think Ron would be happy being with him if he married a woman -- even if it was only to get an legitimate heir.

Draco sighed deeply, feeling even more lost and confused than he\'d started out. Duty had been drilled into him practically from the cradle, forcefed right along side everything else. Now, for the very first time in his life, he found himself wanting nothing more than to cast that aside and do what he wanted instead. This was different than his earlier choosing of sides, and in some ways far more difficult. In his first choice, he had defied his father wishes. In this he would defying not a single person, however important; he would be defying his entire family line, his *ancient* family line.

Ron was right, he thought defiantly, there really was no one left for him to answer to. He had only himself. The big question on that was whether he would be able to live with himself if he shrugged it all aside.

//If *she* doesn\'t abort, there might be hope of someone else.//

Draco gasped at the very idea. It was shocking. It was, in a word, unbelievable that he would even *consider* it. What happened to all his grandiose words to Ron about it being his duty to keep the line pure? He frowned, glaring out over the lake. There was no way she\'d keep it. He knew that. It wasn\'t some illicit \'love child\'. His father had raped her, leaving her with the remains of that violent act. The debate he was having with himself was utterly pointless, because the foundation of it would never happen.


TBC
Kiristeen
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