Soul Searching

Soul Searching Soul Searching By Quillusion     Chapter 24     The hospital wing again. My eyes are open before I've fully started processing things, and I can see the ny why whitewashed ceiling with the same crack in it that I always notice. Madam Pomfrey always puts me in the same bed every time I come. I stared at that ceiling with a cat's vision for longer than I care to remember. It's lit now with sunlight, and there are long shadow stripes across the floor from the wood in the windowpanes.   Gradually, I sit up. I'm not tired, but I don't feel very energetic either. What I do feel at the moment concerns my bladder, and I lever myself out of bed and make my way slowly to the bathroom at the far end of the room.   The trip back is even more leisurely as I pause at the windows to look outside. It's a beautiful day, and the pennants on the Quidditch field are floating lazily in a mild breeze. I don't see anyone outside on the castle grounds, and I wonder to myself where everyone is.   Poppy Pomfrey bustles in at that moment, her arms full of bottles and boxes, and she brightens at the sight of me.   "You're awake, my dear! How lovely!" She dumps her armload and hurries over to help me back to bed. "How do you feel?"   "Fine," I reply honestly. "I think I just needed sleep."   "I'll say." There is little humor in the mediwitch's tone when she eyes me up and down. "Do you know how long you've been asleep?"   Well, that throws out the possibility of any reasonable guesses. But I don't know what else to say. "I had thought about a day or so, perhaps a bit more. I gather that's not accurate."   Poppy shakes her head. "Not by a long shot. You were out cold when Professor Snape carried you up here nearly six days ago. You woke up just enough to be fed and helped to the bathroom, but that's about it. I doubt you remember a bit of it. It's just as well; you had a few nightmares along the way."   I frown. "I hope I wasn't too much trouble," I start, and she waves away the implied apology.   "Don't trouble yourself, my dear. We had help looking after you, you know. We couldn't leave you alone- that Skeeter woman has been trying to get in to see you, and there have been requests almost hourly from the Ministry for permission to debrief you after your experiences. All of your friends have taken turns sitting with you, and right now it's been my watch for the last two hours. When I came out of my office to go down the hall to the supply closet a moment ago, I noticed you'd gotten up and the bathroom door was shut. And so here you are!"   She has been tucking me back in while telling me all of this, and I realize that six days in the aftermath of such things as I witnessed on my last waking day must have been as full of activity as a regular month. I'll have a lot of catching up to do.   The most pressing thing on my mind, however, has nothing to do with Voldemort's end.   "Please, Madam Pomfrey, tell me what's happened with Professor Dumbledore."   My heart eases incredibly when I see the woman's mouth curve into a smile. Not bad news, then.   "He's doing fine," she says comfortingly. "He's got a long way to go toward getting back to normal, but whatever Severus did that night appears to have saved his life. He's resting in his quarters, again with company to ward off unwanted visitors. " She considers me for a long moment.   "Professor Snape gave me to understand that the actions surrounding the saving of Albus's life have much to do with your recent studies. He declined to answer any questions until you could be consulted. Can you shed any light on what happened?"   I sigh. "I can, but I must speak to Albus before I will. We had made an agreement about the publication of my results before all of… this… happened, and I am not at all certain that recent events will permit the safe divulgence of my research. I did not expect things to get so big."   The mediwitch chuckles, and hands me a hairbrush which I recognize as my own. Clearly they have brought my bag up from Snape's rooms. Poppy pushes a towel into my arms as well.   "I thought you might like to clean up a bit- feel more like yourself. If you are in the mood for company, you might like to join everyone for dinner in the Great Hall. There won't be a formal celebration until you and Albus are well enough to attend- Minerva's and Severus's orders- but there has been feasting and revelry in the streets since the news broke. You're the toast of the wizarding world, the lot of you- you'll need your strength back before you face anything outside of the castle. Come to think of it, company or not, you ought to eat with the rest of the school tonight. You could use a good plate full of feast food, my dear. You've eaten little but broth, tea, and the feathers from your pillow this week."   At that, my stomach makes a noise like a creaking stair, and I laugh. It feels good. "What time is it?" I ask, and Poppy looks at the far wall. "It's nearly four o'clock," she says. "Dinner is at five tonight. If you can hold on, then fine- if not, there's tea on the sideboard, and a few biscuits as well." She nods to the table beneath the windows, usually well stocked with tea and other items popular with the sick.   Resolutely, I turn back to Madam Pomfrey, my tongue running distaslly lly over my front teeth. My parents would be appalled at the velvety texture of them, and I'm not much more tolerant of it. One hand cautiously creeps upward to feel my hair and scalp, and I cringe. I feel like Snape used to look when I was a first year and couldn't see past such things. This might be more of a challenge than even detergent and water can overcome. An old Muggle commercial sudd spr springs to mind- I think it was for a dog food: Makes Its Own Gravy. Like my head. How revolting- the idea that Severus Snape may have watched me lie around in this highly unflattering condition is not to be closely examined. That way lies madness.   "Toothbrush, then shower," I say succinctly, and she nods.   Mmm- warm running water. Is there anything so sublime in the world? A freshening charm will do in a pinch- but nothing is so pleasing as the feel of freshly soaped skin and clean hair just dried. I've got a bottle of shampoo, a bar of my favorite soap, a jar of salt scrub, and a mouthful of minty freshness, and the combination of the four is taking me to heaven. My scalp is tingling from the scrubbing I've just finished giving it, and I sigh with pleasure as tangles of hair rinse down the drain. That last is just one of the fringe benefits of an enchanted castle- no clogged drains, long hair or not. I slather conditioner on my hair and pile it on my head, then turn to leisurely scrub my back with the loofah on a stick.   I wonder if guys love this sort of thing as much as girls? One would think not- after all, they don't sell bath gel and salt scrub in nineteen masculine scents at most department stores. Boy, are they missing out. Showers are sublime places- and this one is more so than most, crafted as it is from warm, mellow stone, lit with torches, and suffused with warmth that leaches from each and every tile. The showerhead above me is nearly a foot in diameter, and the gentle rain of water from its span is just la raa rainstorm.   I haven't felt this pampered in ages, and I really need a dose of pampering. It takes a lot of scrubbing to get the grit from Voldemort's castle out from under my nails, and I've washed my neck a dozen times. No matter that the fine line of the cut is long since gone- I still feel as if there is something there I want to remove. I'm sure the feeling will fade with time; there is no trace of the magic of the knife or the poison on its blade. Severus saw to that the night we got back. But for now, my neck is red with the force of my scrubbing.   I really must try to stop that, I think to myself calmly, and move the loofah down to my shoulders again. I wonder for a moment if Severus ever scrubs himself to bleeding to remove the memory of Voldemort and the Death Eaters from his own skin. If he has, perhaps he has now done it for the last time. That's a nice thought.   I do some of my best thinking in the shower. Now, for example, I'm pondering over what I will find when I go down to the Great Hall for dinner tonight. Will Albus be there? Will Harry and Ron be present? What about Minerva, Remus, and Sirius? What will the students say?   What will Severus say?   That last one takes up most of my time in the shower- and is the driving force behind my careful and thorough toilette. After a long rinse and a vigorous dry with a towel, I sit down on a teakwood bench to think as I apply lotion to every inch of skin I can reach. My last memory of Severus is his softly murmured words as I fell asleep after taking his antidote. In the intervening six days, I have no idea what sorts of things he has faced, and even less idea what his frame of mind will be.   I don't know why I'm so full of doubt all of a sudden; perhaps it is because I have spent six days in the infirmary and I have no idea if he's even visited me. Perhaps it's because everything that has happened feels so surreal that I'm not even sure that Severus said what I thought he did.   I remember his kiss, the soft warmth of it, the lovely feeling of acceptance, and I want it to still be real. I don't know if it will be, though; now that the crisis has passed, and has taken with it the urge to say things before it is too late to ever say them, who knows what we will find in the peaceful emptiness that is left?   Get a grip, Granger, I tell myself firmly. Get dressed and go get some dinner. Time enough to worry about that on a full stomach. I set my feet on the warm flagstones of the floor, and to my pleasant surprise, the faintest hum of reassurance courses up my legs to warm my he &nb   Hogwarts is comforting me.   That thought is more than enough to sustain me, and with a soft smile for the massive stone arches that line the windows, I turn resolutely for the door back into the ward.   My bag has been set beside my bed in the infirmary, and I dump it out on the bed to search through it (after hastily tucking The WIKTT Archives back into the bottom). It takes me perhaps fifteen seconds to come to the conclusion that, as I had packed only for dinner and a trip back to Salisbury, I did not bring any spare clothes with me.   I glance down at the hospital-style robe that drapes across my body. Well, I'm certainly not about to face Severus Snape in this fashion statement. I take my wand out and head for a mirror, mouth pulled aside in thought.   Hmm. Swish and flick. Mmm hmmmm. Swish and flick, swish,flick, swish, flick. Mm!? Mmmh Mmmhhh. Swish, flick, swish, flick. Much better. Swish, flick. Perfect.   I smile at myself, satisfied. My hospital robe has been Transfigured into a very suitable set of robes made of smoothly woven heavy fabric; perfect for the coolness of the evening. The material is the same dark blue of the midnight sky the first time I used the henge, lit with peripheral light from the horizons and spangled with the faint silver white of pinpoint stars. The cut is a far cry from the demure bagginess of Hogwarts robes, and a fine line of silver piping outlines the yoke and lapels of the robe. The whole thing moves with the grace of night wind, and I smile to myself. It's perfect, and Madam Pomfrey may find herself short a hospital robe as a result.   I Transfigure my old, sensible shoes into comfortable matching slippers- no sense in overdoing things all at once- and put them on. Voila, Hermione, it's the New You. A few spells to the hair and face, and I'm set.   Ah, but wait. This is a Potions master I'm setting out to reclaim. He's got a good nose; I might as well make use of it. A few judicious dabs of perfume, at the pulse points at neck and wrist, and I smell as good as I think I might actually look. Glancing in the mirror, I smile at myself. Pale, but composed; check. Hair behaving for once; check. Eyes sparkling at the thought of a certain dark-haired man; check, check. Time to go.   Did I say composed? Scratch that. I've just looked at my watch, and I've got a minute to get to the Great Hall before I'll have to walk in without the concealing rush of students and faculty to hide me from curious eyes. I dash out the door with all the panic of my schoolgirl days, and groan inwardly at the thought of all the stairways that lie between me and the main floor.   I start down the first stairway, feeling like Cinderella about to be late leaving the ball, when the stairway begins to shiftnbspnbsp; "Oh, no," I cry softly, only to feel a soft, silent note of laughter from the stone beneath my feet. But it's not mocking laughter, it's bemused. All around me, I can see staircases shifting, rearranging, and when the staircase I'm riding finally comes to a halt, it's dropped me off on a landing with a beautiful broad banister arcing gracefully downward.   I stare at the banister for a long moment, eyeing the length of it as it vanishes into torchlight and shadow below me. The torch at the head of the banister flares meaningfully, and my eyebrows lift in incredulity.   The castle can't be serious. I haven't done this since I was ten.   I feel a gentle nudge behind me as the stone tail of the banister I've just released behind me arcs up and pushes me forward, and I laugh suddenly. The castle is right- it's take a chance, or be late. No time like the present!   Swiftly, I lift a leg over the banister, leaning back and putting my hands behind my hips for a brake. I never liked sliding down on my stomach with my legs first, and there's no sense starting now, is there?   I remember riding once on a roller coaster, a great big tall one that flipped me upside down so that my feet hung suspended in the frame of the blue August sky. I thought I would be flung out to fall, wingless, to earth like Icarus- but it was exhilarating.   This is just as exhilarating, but it's the least secure thing I think I've done in years. The levels of the castle are zipping by, and I see the blurred faces in the many paintings flicking past me with startled glances as I sluice down the banister. The railing tilts inward on the curves, pushing me firmly into the security of its stone track, and I spiral downward with increasing speed. If I didn't know this was magic, I'd be expecting to have burns on my hands and my buttocks after I was done. But there isn't anything but the wind in my face and the rush of blood through my veins as my heart pounds with excitement. I've never seen a banister this long in the castle before, and I know perfectly well that the stone has done this to help me get to the bottom in time and with breath to spare. Dear thing, this castle, despite the few times it's flummoxed me with these selfsame stairs.   Suddenly the steepness slacks off, and I begin to slow. The banister slopes up just a little to stop me, and then with a gentleness I cannot mistake for anything other than fondness, it slides me gracefully to the floor. The trailing end of the banister pushes up in a moving arc to support me until I'm firmly on my feet, and I turn with a breathless smile and put my hand back on the stone railing.   "Thank you," I say sincerely, and for a moment I can feel the stone soften beneath my hand in acknowledgement.   And then, with a gentle shove that any mother might use on her child, the railing pushes me unmistakably toward the last flight of stairs leading to the Great Hall.   Minerva is waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, and she smiles with emotion when she sees me. I'm accustomed to these rare glimpses of McGonagall's well-hidden softer side, but I am still surprised by how moved she seems. With a quick but fierce hug, she puts a hand to my back and companionably steers me away from the doors leading to the Great Hall.   "You'll be dining with the staff, Hermione- you're a guest here, and a guest of honor, what's more. I hope you don't mind not being seated with Gryffindor."   I smile at her. "Not really," I say with a small sigh. "I love talking with Ginny, but I think tonight I don't want to be subjected to the fatigue of student conversation. Especially if they're as full of questions as we used to be about stuff like this."   "They're Gryffindors, Hermione. Of course they're bursting with curiosity about the hcs ocs of several of their own. Even the Slytherins are getting a little glory, and Severus too- and about time. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff are just glad the Dark Lord ise, ee, even if their houses don't have much claim to greatness in the process. But their roles in this world are different, and their time to shine will come, too."   My former Head of House has led me around to the other end of the Great Hall and up to the staff door; I remember seeing Snape disappear through it time and again, leaving dinner early; I always thought he was being antisocial. Now I know he was more than likely answering an unwelcome summons from Voldemore coe come through the doorway at last, and then the Great Hall in all its candlelit splendor lies before me, in a view I have not had since the night I perched on a rickety stool and begged the Sorting Hat to put me where I could be myself and still feel like I belonged.   And it had given me my wish- for now, more than at any other time, looking at the school I have always loved, I know with a certainty that even the Hat could never confer that I am a Gryffindor. I am myself, I am Hermione, and all of the things that I am are a part of Gryffindor House. Not the other way round. It's taken me a long time to understand that it is the members who make the House, and not the House that makes the members, no matter what the Sorting Hat's song implies to first years. Silly of me not to have seen it before- but it's true nonetheless. Living up to one's House heritage has nothing to do with being brave or ambitious- but being oneself.   Well, duh, Hermione, I think to myself as I slowly move into the Hall toward the empty seat Minerva has indicated for me to take. You might want to have your introspective moment of epiphany and revelation when the entire school isn't staring straight at you.   Because they are. The whole Hall has gone from riotous noise to utter silence in the time it took for the door to open and me to follow Minerva up to the staff table, and every pair of eyes in the room is fixed on me. Eyebrows are arched in interest, and in some cases excitement- I can see Ginny waving at me madly, and I flutter my fingers at her in glad reply- but most of them are pasted on the ceiling with awe, the bright eyes beneath them pinned firmly to me.   I've never had that sort of perusal turned directly on me before; I've stood next to the object of such open amazement, but that's the closest I've gotten. I now understand exactly why Harry prefers feeling anonymous. Next to this, a goldfish bowl would seem reclusive.   How can the staff eat like this night after night?   There is a massive scraping noise, and in the silence I realize that the entire school has risen to its feet in respect pushing their benches back to stand in continued silence as I walk to my seat.   That touches me more than anything else I've seen yet, and tears prick my eyes at this evidence of the feeling these students have for us.   My attention is caught at another soft scraping sound as my chair is drawn back for me, and I turn to see Severus Snape gesturing for me to have a seat.   He looks exhausted, completely drawn out, his face pale and shadowed with fatigue. His eyes are slightly reddened, and it's even odds whether the redness is from lack of sleep or cauldron fumes. It's probably from both. His habitual black robes look somewhat creased from wear, and I wonder how long it's been since he's been able to get back to his quarters to change. Despite the fact that he looks as if he's hardly done anything but teach, brew, and fill one of Albus's shoes since we got back, I think he's breathtaking.   "Welcome back to the Great Hall, Miss Granger," he says formally, and while his face is impassive, it seems to me that there is more warmth in those dark eyes than it was ever his habit to reveal in quieter days.   "Thank you, Professor," I reply demurely, and dip my head to keep my feelings from showing in my face as I seat myself. I know perfectly well that this is no time to let my heart run away with my tongue, or my expression, or anything else, and I know just as well that if I let myself stare into his eyes, I'll do something thick-headed like smile at him dreamily.   That would not go over well with him at present, I suspect- although I can't imagine we have all that much to hide. I have no doubt that my good-bye kiss at the gates of the school last week has been the talk of the student body since it happened. Somekisskissed Snape? Surely you're joking- who? What?! That's impossible! I can just imagine the reactions; Ron's basic incredulity must pale in comparison.   But Severus has turned away from me without further comment, and has taken his seat a few places away to the left of where Dumbledore usually sits. The Headmaster's chair is empty, though his place is set, and the emptiness of his seat- while saddening- is balanced by the fact that he is clearly expected to return, and at any moment at that. I turn my attention to my own plate, feeling my salivary glands burst to life in Pavlovian delight at the idea that something- anything- will appear on its surface any minute now.   My training is rewarded with a large steaming slice of prime rib, a lovely buttered potato, heaps of green beans almondine, and julienne cranberry carrots. I think I'm going to faint with hunger, but I apply myself to the food with the same enthusiasm I've used to devour textbooks, and once I've eaten my fill I am finally able to sit back and think for a few minutes.   The Great Hall is lovely from up here. It's easier to see everything, and across the sea of black student's caps I can see the stone friezes against the wall shifting as they converse amongst themselves. The candles bob gently halfway between slate floor and enchanted ceiling, and a quick glance up shows me the softly falling powder of our first snow.   "Beautiful, isn't it, Miss Granger?" asks a voice to my left, and I turn to see Professor Flitwick at my side.   "Quite," I say softly.   "I've always thought there was something magical about the first snowfall," the Charms teacher goes on thoughtfully. "Even the Muggles seem to feel it. And perhaps there's something to the theory, after all. It's been snowing since shortly after you awakened. And this is the first night that both you and Severus have been able to attend dinner here in the Hall with the school. He and Minerva have been dreadfully busy dealing with the Aftermath, you know, what with Albus still being cooped up in his rooms recovering."   "Has he been awake long?" I ask, and Flitwick chuckles.   "He was never out, my dear," he says warmly. "Neither Albus nor Severus has said a word of how his life was saved, and none of the others who were there that night will say anything until one of the three of you gives them leave. So, naturally, the lot of you are the talk of the wizarding world. Harry showed those bones to the Ministry that first day, and pandemonium hit; no one went to work for three days because of the celebrations. I fear if we put off explanations for too long, the tension may become too much for anyone to bear."   He pats me on the hand fondly, and I know that as kind as his words are, they are an oblique suggestion that I am the one who must make the first move. And I know he's right. I started this, and I have to finish it. The pressure that Severus and my other friends must have endured while I lay out cold for six days bothers me, but there was nothing else to be done. I am grateful for their forbearance.   "Do you know if I might be permitted to see the Headmaster after dinner?" I ask, and Flitwick nods at Minerva.   "You'll have to get through Minerva to see Albus," he says with a smile. "She and Severus both ordered him to rest and promptly divided his tasks between themselves. She deals with the students and the school, he deals with the rest of the wizarding world and the Ministry. Severus did try to argue that he is not the ideal spokesman for Hogwarts to the rest of the world, but Minerva rather sternly told him that she thought he would be better off using his temperament to off off unwanted inquiries from London than frightening the students further."   I can just imagine the conversation. Turning my head a little, I peer down the table to where Severus sits, the stem of his goblet held between his index finger and thumb, his gaze resting unseeing on his plate. It's cleared completely- he probably only gets to eat once a day, given what Flitwick's just told me- and he's now sitting back, clearly savoring a brief moment when he doesn't need to get up to go anywhere and no one is bothering him. Minerva flicks her glance at him briefly, then shifts to look at me. She nods slightly, a faint smile on her face, and I smile back. She deliberately ignores Severus, knowing perfectly well that he needs a few minutes alone, and turns back to Professor Sprout.   Dinner winds down quickly, and I am the first to rise from the staff table. I move past Severus to lean over Minerva, asking her in low tones if I might see Albus briefly tonight to see about getting an explanation out to the rest of the world. We speak softly, and my body blocks her view of my left hand as it slowly moves down to gently, chastely touch Severus on the arm.   It's the only move I can think to make right now, so I make it. I feel as if he's retreated a little, whether because of his increased duties or because of a change of heart. Perhaps the return to regular school routine and daylight has brought about a reassertion of his previous habits. Whatever the cause, I know that an overt move would push him away, and I don't want that.   He stiffens for a moment at my touch, but then, as I continue to speak to Minerva, he slowly moves his arm back until my fingers are held in his. He squeezes briefly, then lets go.   When I turn to leave the Great Hall in Minerva's wake, I do not look back at him.