The Blowers Daughter

Hermione did regain consciousness, but it was a strange, fractured consciousness. Two weeks after Lucius’s death, her eyes opened as she lay in her bed at St. Mungo’s, but she did nothing else but look at the ceiling. Snape was always next to her, holding her hand, desperate to feel her twitch her hand, but his desperation was not rewarded. She lay there, and Snape’s heart broke as he watched the nurses feed her through a tube, or wipe away her drool as she stared blankly. He kissed her desperately, but she did not react. Occasionally, she would move, but she never seemed to recognise anyone around her. She would look at the button’s of Snape’s jacket and cry when she couldn’t unbutton them, or giggle in a strange, fragmented way as she looked at her own hands.

Three weeks after Hermione opened her eyes, Snape was at a loss. He had bought her a wheelchair and during the day would wheel her around the room and the hospital, talking to her in the way he used to, desperately hoping that his intelligent conversations would stir something in her, but the conversations were all one sided. He had written to Harry, feeling desperately guilty that the boy had not been involved in Hermione’s situation. Harry, having heard of Hermione’s attack after it had occurred, had retired from public life and vanished. He had vanished in the middle of the night, leaving Ginny with no message. He was still missing when Snape messaged him, simply telling his owl to find Potter as soon as he could.

In December, five weeks after the attack and a week after Snape had sent the letter to Harry, Hermione was in her wheelchair. Her head was resting against the side, and her eyes were staring blankly out of the window that Snape had positioned her to look out off. Snape was watching her intently.

“Hermione,” he whispered, “I’ve said this a thousand times in the last five weeks, but I love you, I love you so very much.” The words, even the idea of love, held nothing but pain for him as he looked at her.

“I’ve written to Harry,” he said softly, “he hasn’t replied, but I think he may come and visit you.” His own words made him sigh, “and Remus is coming to see you today as well.” Snape had never forgiven Remus, but the two operated in an almost stalemate way, both of them sharing in a grief so great that they were forced to sympathise with each other. Hermione continued to look out, like a carved statue, ironically living up to her name.

“I should never have left you Hermione,” Snape said softly, “In Vienna, when Belletrix and Macnair demanded to know where you were, I realised that you would always have been safer with me. I was such a selfish fool to leave you.” He had hoped in a desperately romantic way that his words may resurrect her, but they didn’t. He sighed again and shook his head. He stood up and moved to kiss her forehead. As he did, he heard a knock at the door.

“Come in,” he said sadly, suspecting it was a nurse preparing to bathe Hermione. When the door opened, he was surprised to see Harry in the doorway. His state surprised him even more. He was filthy, covered in mud and his face smudged with dirt. His hair was full of leaves and tangled, and his eyes were full of depression.

“Potter,” Snape said before he could stop himself, “where have you been?!”

“I went walking,” he said softly, “and I didn’t stop. I walked away from Ginny, and just kept walking. I’ve been walking now for five weeks. I was going to keep going until I went mad, until your letter reached me.” He held up a dirty piece of parchment, “and I had to see her.”

“Why didn’t you perish?” Snape asked with his typical bluntness

“I fed myself. I still had a reason to live. I thought if I kept walking, alone with my thoughts, I would lose that reason.” He looked at Snape and at the back of the wheelchair, “is that her?” Snape nodded and turned the wheelchair around so that Hermione was facing Harry. Harry’s heart sank even further as he looked at his closest friend, her vacant eyes and the saliva collecting in the corner of her mouth.

“What was the reason?” Snape asked softly.

“That this is some joke. That she is alright,” he said sadly, moving forward to look at her. He knelt down in front of her and stroked her cheek with his dirty knuckles. A strange sound escaped Hermione, like a gurgle. Harry sighed as he thought of how Hermione would be feeling, her natural pride shattered, but then her remembered that she wasn’t able to feel anything. He looked into her eyes, and she raised her hands, pressing them to Harry’s cheeks like a child with a balloon. Her eyes were still vacant as she ran her thumbs over his lips as a blind man might try and judge some ones features. Tears gathered in his eyes as Hermione’s hands moved to his hair and stopped. Her head returned to one side and she seemed to fade away again to her own thoughts her hands still in his hair.

“What does that mean?” Harry asked, not wanting to pull away from her touch.

“I don’t know,” Snape replied softly, “Probably nothing. She does it all the time, but she doesn’t remember anything. She doesn’t recognise my face even though I’ve been next to her for five weeks. She doesn’t react to anything; pain, tickling, kisses.” He shook his head.

“Can she talk?” Harry asked sadly, “I mean, isn’t she trying to communicate?”

“Garbled sentences, nothing of any sense,” Snape said, wishing his words were wrong, “we’ve done a brain scan on Hermione, and there’s irreparable damage. This is all we have now” Harry nodded at Snape’s words and made a soft sniffling sound. Looking down, Snape saw that the boy’s eyes were red. The sight of the young boy’s sadness made him remember how he had felt looking down at Hermione after that curse had been cast. He pulled the boy into his arms, and in strange scene, felt Harry burst into tears into his arms. He held the boy like his father held him, and rocked him gently as sobs racked through Harry’s body.

Eventually Harry regained his senses and drew away from Snape, looking up at him sadly, but without any shame for his previous outburst.

“She….” He paused, “she wouldn’t want to be like this.” He looked over to her and then to Snape, “She would feel claustrophobic.” Snape nodded

“I know, I’ve been thinking that too,” he said, moving to stand next to Hermione, stroking her hair softly. She began to giggle as he stroked her hair, but it was a detached giggle, as though she was totally unaware of Snape’s touch. Harry looked down at her and tears came freshly to his eyes. As he looked down at her, the door opened again, and Remus appeared. Snape cursed as he realised he had forgotten about Remus’s visit. Harry turned and looked at him, and Snape expected Harry to lunge at him, but he didn’t. He merely shook his head and turned back to Hermione.

“Harry!” Remus said in surprise, “Where have you been?!” Harry shook his head.

“This isn’t about me,” Harry replied coolly, “I wanted to see Hermione, and now that I have, I’ve decided on something.” He turned to Snape and nodded to him.

“I’ll see you soon Professor,” Harry said with a sad yet strange, almost all-knowing tone. He turned away and went to the door, passing Remus with a disinterest. Snape followed him and grabbed his arm, turning him to face him.

“Don’t do it,” Snape said softly, looking at Harry intently, “don’t do anything unnecessary. You still have Ginny and Ron and Dumbledore and me, please don’t do anything stupid,” he begged. Harry looked at him with a questioning.

“She’s trapped in a fractured mind,” Harry said unaware that he was paraphrasing the threat Lucius had made, “I can’t stay here and watch.” Snape nodded.

“But please come to me if you consider doing anything,” Snape said softly, “Please talk to me.” Harry looked up at him, his green eyes pale and dejected.

“Alright,” he said softly, before nodding and turning and leaving. Snape sighed, a little relieved that he had saved, at least temporarily, Potter’s life from himself. He turned back to Remus, who was stroking Hermione’s cheek. Hermione was pouting like a child, her hands pulling at Remus’s tie. Remus smiled weakly at her, as she continued to pull at his tie.

“Snape,” Remus whispered, “I can’t bear this,” he turned around, and the tie came out of Hermione’s hand. Snape watched her reaction as it slipped away, desperately hoping that she would cry, as it would show to him that she still had emotions. Instead she simply rested her head back against the chair and drifted into her dream world, her eyes becoming vacant once again.

“Everyone keeps telling me that!” Snape yelled suddenly, “what do they want me to do! Can’t they realise how desperate I feel!” He turned away from Hermione and rested his head against the door, feeling close to collapse.

DISCLAIMER: NONE OF THIS BELONGS TO ME. I JUST CREATED THE PLOT!