Needfire

Chapter 33 - The Weeds of the Soul

\"papa love your princess
so that she will find loving princes familiar
papa cry for your princess
so that she will find gentle princes familiar...\"

-- Princes Familiar, Alanis Morissette


Amanda Morrow was scrutinizing her with blue, dove-like eyes. The healer, Hermione thought, had something avian about her looks, from the way she tilted her head, to the sharp tip of her small nose and her claw-like fingers, closing around her wand. They were seated in the Healer\'s small session room in an independent section of the ward – Amanda rested comfortably on a low sofa, facing Hermione – who always chose to sit on the opposite armchair.

The elder woman nodded. \"If there is anything in particular you want to discuss with me today, please concentrate on that and let your body relax.\"

Hermione could sometimes swear she was able to virtually feel Amanda\'s gaze following the moulding of her body onto the dents and depressions of the armchair.

\"Good,\" she heard Amanda\'s voice echoing around her. \"Now close your eyes… I\'ll count to three… One two three – Legilimens!\"

Right in front of her eyes, at a level of existence enabled by Legilimency – both in memory and the side-by-side presence of Healer Morrow\'s mind – was her five-year-old self. She had been seated at the dinner table in her parents\' house, staring idly at a strange dish. Watching the scene from her seemingly secure position in Dr Morrow\'s session room, Hermione was able to recognize the dish as sushi- it was a particular time in the eighties when everyone lusted after Japanese food, and Donna, too, felt obliged to feed her husband and daughter raw fishes and seaweeds.

Disgusted, five-year-old Hermione reached her hand to give the strange dish a closer examination. She had no intention of putting the slippery, pinkish salmon into her mouth, and so was disassembling the sushi roll, looking inside for something half palatable.

\"Hermione Jane!\" Donna\'s voice rang in her ears, causing her to drop the raw fish at once.

Blushing, she stared shamefully at her plate, knowing she had been caught playing with her food.

Donna, a flicker of pink tongue licking invisible moisture off her lipstick-painted mouth, sighed in desperation. \"Go on, go wash your hands, and don\'t forget the soap. That fishiness won\'t just come off with plain water. We\'re waiting.\"

Lester, from the corner of the table, gave her a small wink, as if telling her to never mind her mother\'s capricious whims. The teenaged girl recumbent in the armchair stiffened at this gesture. Her lower lip trembled and the memory altered, replaced by another memory where a twelve-year-old or so Hermione was bent over a marble sink, using the antiseptic she sneaked from her parents\' clinic to wash her arms. Tchaikovsky was playing in the background, the violins strumming on her nerves, and she found herself working the antiseptic into her skin in rhythm with the music.

She felt herself flicker to another memory of hand-washing – one where her breasts were already pricking the cloth of her shirt – she brought her fingers to her nose. Sniffing closely, she searched for the somewhat salty scent of bertholine, angry that she could still detect it. Several years before, Donna told her that masturbation was normal and legitimate, and yet the scent of it would never come off her hands, and it seemed Hermione would never be aroused by simple, normal things. In some parallel film of memory, she could see herself attempting to fantasize about kissing Ron or Harry, having sex with them, trying to imagine what fourteen-year-old Ron\'s penis looked like. And yet, when she lay in her bed at night, reaching under the covers to pleasure herself, she would usually see a faceless figure in a Slytherin Quidditch uniform, isolating her behind the Quidditch changing rooms and raping her with her face against the wall. The wall smelled of bertholine.

Panting, Hermione clutched the armrests of the armchair, blinking as the swirling loop of memories suddenly stopped and Amanda Morrow\'s face wavered into her cognition.

\"Why did you stop now…?\" she breathed. \"We didn\'t even reach any of the cognitive inter-layers…the deeper memories\"

The healer shook her head. \"You were upset. Perhaps today is not a good time to reach those places.\"

Frustration pushed her back into the armchair. \"Isn\'t Illumination supposed to upset one?\"

\"Upset, yes, but not to undermine,\" Amanda answered. \"My purpose is to heal, not to cause more damage.\"

Hermione clenched her teeth. \"I don\'t see why this particular set of memories would stimulate such a reaction. They\'re not even important.\"

\"This, perhaps, is something we can discuss here.\"

\"I thought Illumination had to do with spiritual interference?\"

\"Many things affect the human spirit, working to give our soul its current shape,\" said Amanda. \"Illumination is a shortcut- reaching your soul via magic and banishing the shadows. It only simulates the process that happens in real life, when you reach into those places yourself through talking and understanding the issues involved. It is important that we talk about them, though, or else the Illumination was wasted. Is it clearer for you now?\" she asked.

Hermione nodded tiredly. \"Yes, yes. It simply… I feel as if we\'re moving in circles… and I\'m exhausted, I…\" she bit on her lower lip. \"So my father touched me inappropriately, I suffer an OCD, ran away with my Potions professor who could have been my father and have rather twisted sexual fantasies… good for me.\"

\"Yes,\" the healer answered quietly, watching her with those big, sizzling eyes, \"but is it really good for you?\" and with that, she told Hermione their time for today was over. \"I want to see you again three days from now. But please give it some thought.\"

Glaring at the healer, she stood up, dusting some invisible dirt off her trousers. Amanda\'s office was kept in relative order, wasn\'t particularly keen in her cleansing charm. Even the house elves, scrubbing the place once a week, couldn\'t stand up to Hermione Granger\'s standards.

Noting the nervous manner in which her patient was rubbing her hands against each other, Amanda\'s brow furrowed in concentration. \"And Hermione-\" she added.

The girl raised her head to look at the healer.

\"Your hands are clean. Your clothes are clean,\" she said gently, then her voice hardened. \"Remember that one of the reasons we\'re here is to prevent you from causing damage to yourself. Scraping yourself would result in certain restrictions of your freedoms. Am I clear on that subject?\"

Hermione tightened her lips, but nonetheless, gave the healer a brief nod of understanding.

Chloe, engaged in E. A Poe\'s collected works, lifted her gaze to look at her cranky friend entering their room. Noting the thin air of distress sizzling around Hermione like raw magic, she had carefully bookmarked the page she was currently reading, then set the book aside. Poignant-blue eyes anchored Hermione in place: Chloe did not smile – not a literal smile which could have been bookmarked the way Poe\'s collection had just been. But her eyes held a certain warmth, as well as a certain sharpness. Chloe Nott had never received the social training that might show her how to keep her metaphorical razor hidden. Nevertheless, Hermione assumed, razors were something she knew how to deal with. She was learning how to deal with Chloe Nott, as well.

\"So?\" the curly-headed girl asked. \"How was today\'s session?\"

Hermione dropped on the bed, quickly kicking away her shoes and stretching her limbs. \"Nothing new. No excitement but the usual creepy one, if you\'d call it excitement. We began Legilimency, then Amanda stopped the current, claiming I was upset. We talked for a while, reached no new conclusions…\"

Chloe lifted her eyebrow. \"What conclusions do you expect?\"

\"I don\'t know…\"! Hermione answered exhaustedly, eyes wandering over the ceiling. \"I suppose I\'d like to know the reasons for my behaviour – to have a clear narrative according to which I may be able to explain myself-\"

\"Sounds somewhat like a scientific curiosity to me,\" Chloe interrupted.

\"Well, isn\'t that what Illumination is all about? Attempting to dissect the wizarding spirit in scientific methods?\"

\"I believe…\" the other girl began thoughtfully, \"that salvation shall come from within.\"

\"Don\'t give me this bullshit.\"

\"Oh, but it isn\'t.\" A nasty gleam shone in Chloe\'s eyes, then died as she shook her eyes, attempting a serious expression. \"You see- Illumination uses… scientific methods to put you into order. That is fine. Let Amanda walk you through the valley of the shadow of death, dear old Chloe will watch over you. But then, my love, when you\'re on the other side, illuminated and scientifically disinfected, there will still be the sterile, now neatly-ordered cage of your soul you\'ll have to live in. So, you see, Amanda may feed you with her wand-waving. There are certain things, though, only you can obtain. And maintain.\"

Hermione rolled onto her stomach, scrutinizing Chloe. How much, she had often wondered, do you learn about humanity from inspecting and dissecting those twisted specimens you are presented with? Am I only one of the negatives you observe in your darkroom: do you spread my picture flat against the wall and replace white with black and vice versa, to imagine how normal people must be? And do you enjoy me as much as I do you…?

As if sensing Hermione\'s thoughts, the girl on the other bed was slowly rising to her feet. She smiled at Hermione, unapologetically shaking the four poster bed as she jumped on it. Long limbed, lazy creature that she was, Chloe stretched beside Hermione, the faceless sun from the magically-shielded window glittering in her always dancing hair. There was a silence between them- not her and Ron\'s faded-cotton silence, but another, whispery silence: a spider-web, silky silence made of golden sunshine and the low ruffle of pages, turned in a book. When Chloe\'s side touched her own on the narrow bed, there was no recoiling- only a small internal shrink that came and faded. Then the silence was back, humming between them like electricity flowing from two highly charged items, and Hermione giggled- a stupid, childish, girlish giggle.

* * *

April soon shifted into May- more fake sun was pouring out of the bewitched windows, and as much she doubted it – trying her new stability like a newfound magical item – the fractures were slowly mending. Together with Amanda, she had been reaching for the dusty storeroom of her mind: she liked to think of it as the locked cupboards of her memories, washing them with clear, acidic light, and once again making them reachable. Making herself reachable. There were often points when she lost her famous self-control: she would break into tears, or be clawed by a fit of anger. On those occasions, Amanda was always there, consoling, appeasing, offering words of comfort. Chloe, too, had watched her progress silently. Being pessimistic by nature, her friend would rather quote Ecclesiastes then sweet-talk her, but the knowledge of Chloe – the knowledge of Chloe\'s being hers – was rare and beautiful. It was enough to be a comfort.

Her days were not spent idly. As devoted to her studies as ever, she prepared for her NEWTs, spending the rest of her time training and enjoying Chloe\'s company. She had never been someone who enjoyed mingling, and so remained estranged from the rest of the youths staying in the ward. Paradoxical as it seemed, she sometimes thought her time on the ward was her calmest ever.

Now that the Fidelius Charm had been undone, there were certain issues that had to be dealt with First was having her things sent from Hogwarts, a task that Harry insisted he would manage. Hermione simply ignored the letter sent to her from the Headmaster. Next and more important were her parents- who, immediately upon being notified concerning their daughter\'s whereabouts, demanded to get her into their custody. This was impossible, due to her mental state. At that, they demanded to visit her. Which she refused. Amanda had quietly disapproved. Privately, Hermione suspected that her continued difficulties were partially due to her refusal to talk to her parents. But this newfound pretense of serenity was bliss, and she could not risk it. It was all, in a sense, a lie. She would never be whole. Why should she, then, exchange the sedating lie with the suffocating truth?

\"Because such pretenses don\'t last,\" was Amanda\'s answer when they sat one day in her office. \"They only help you for a little while before you break all over again. You should learn to live with your abyss. Learn how to walk around it, build bridges over it. The hard way. Not fool yourself into thinking you can fly over it. Because you can\'t- and you\'re bound to fall.\"

She clenched her jaw, avoiding the elder woman\'s unequivocal gaze. Her thin, merciful lips, which would demand answers. \"This is unfair,\" Hermione said at last. \"Yes, I know I sound foolish, but the more I\'m thinking about it, that is what I come up with. Certain people- they\'re just born to loving, normal parents, being brought up having a normal, secure childhood, grow up and have normal sex with normal partners. No shadows, no nightmares, no cupboards.\"

Amanda narrowed her eyes. \"What are you telling me?\"

\"That I am envious! That I see those people blissfully happy in their ignorance and I want to…\" she breathed deeply. \"I\'m not sure whether I want to pain them so they\'d know how I feel or I whether I want them to look at me in my suffering- you know, when I was a small girl I believed that some sort of machine should be invented, to insert this sense of… internal loneliness, and loss, and pain into everyone: I believed this would be the way to prevent people from hurting others, by forcing them to experience empathy.\" Hermione shook her head. \"Nowadays I\'m just… martyring myself in my suffering, in my exhibitionism…I have so much pain in me. Perhaps I need people to see it so I won\'t be alone. Perhaps I need them to unburden me. Perhaps if I\'m looked into hard enough I\'m no longer myself and I\'m finally clean. I don\'t know… I don\'t know.\"

\"\'Clean\' is a meaningful term in this room, between us,\" the healer noted. \"Can you tell me some more about being \'cleaned\' by the people looking at you?\"

Hermione sighed, sinking deeper into the chair. \"This is exhausting.\"

\"I never promised it to be anything but exhausting,\" Amanda said gently.

\"Well…\" Hermione picked invisible lint from her sleeve, frowning a little. \"You know, this image reminds me of some earlier fantasy I used to have…\" she blushed a little, then continued. \"About being presented in a supermarket, as part of the merchandise…\" her frown deepened. \"Can you tell I\'m demonstrating some exhibitionistic tendencies right now? Oh, nevermind. So it was… me, naked, in a corner of the supermarket, on a... well, a seat, much like a dentist\'s seat, in fact – how Freudian, don\'t you think? – and the customers would come and go, fucking me for some small price.\"

All along, the healer\'s steady gaze did not leave her eyes. \"Go on.\"

Blushing furiously now, Hermione continued. \"Well- it was a very exhibitionistic fantasy, don\'t you think? Only the point, there, was to be dirtied, polluted, contaminated… Though, post-factum, I\'m not so sure. It was… everything was… very sterile, you see. And I was… permitted. To everybody. I was… breached, and then I was also… public… I am not quite sure how to put it, perhaps I\'m just babbling. I think that perhaps, if I put myself there right now, this situation allows me to forget. Your body becomes nothing and your soul flies away… God, I am babbling.\" She worried her lower lip, wishing, for some reason, that bursting into tears would be as easy as fantasizing about being polluted. \"Sometimes I want to be no more. I think… I think they should have my body, and they could do anything they want with it… it deserves it. It deserves to be abused. It deserved to be stared at. I deserved to be stared at. Then I\'d be clean.\"

Amanda only nodded, and bending forward, offered Hermione a tissue with which to wipe her tears. She took it, gratefully letting the moisture shining on her skin dampen the soft, linen-like paper. Suddenly it occurred to Hermione how out of place were the Muggle tissues in the Wizarding hospital, and how fitfully it folded into her fisted palm. Strange- the things one thought about when distressed. But then, it seemed to be a moment for anachronisms. An age. With that in mind, she trotted out of the office, met by Jervy\'s empty gaze when she entered her room.

The boy\'s head was resting in Chloe\'s lap, and the other girl was stroking his hair absentmindedly as she read through some Transfiguration text.

\"You cried,\" she noted, lifting her eyes from the book.

\"C..cried,\" Jervy didn\'t fail to echo.

Hermione sank on her bed, kicking away her shoes. \"Your little pest is drooling.\"

A startled look crossed Chloe\'s face before her features were locked behind a black expression. \"You watch your language when you relate to Jervy, is that clear?\"

\"Yeah, right.\" Turning her back to them, she buried her face in her pillow, wishing for a key to solve her own anachronisms. Perhaps, she sometimes thought, she was looking in vain. Perhaps there was no resolution to her whispery, eerie sea of whirling shadows. The way nothing could fill the black holes that were Jervy\'s eyes.

Luckily enough, Chloe was quick to forgive the way she was easy to irritate. That night, they sat in their usual composition, Chloe at the magically shielded window and Hermione on her bed, attempting to seal whatever fractures that had been caused to each of them during the day.

\"It is not Jervy\'s fault, you know,\" Chloe said quietly. \"He didn\'t choose to become what he is.\"

\"I know, I\'m sorry.\"

\"None of us did.\"

\"So quickly retreating to the safe realms of cliché?\" she teased Chloe tiredly.

\"So quickly retreating to the safe realms of cynicism?\" But the blue-eyed girl shook her head. \"They always tell you life is a gift. That you should treasure it. What utter crap.\" The bluish circles under Chloe\'s eyes were two crescents of exhaustion. \"Life is not a gift,\" she continued. \"Life is a burden. We were simply made. Given birth to without ever being asked permission, whether we are interested or even capable of dealing with the difficulties we\'ve been presented with. I used to wonder at my circumstances many times, wondering why I should be born the way I am, practically incapable of ever leaving this ward, and realized that life just… is.\" The moonlight emphasized the sharp, lovely lines of Chloe\'s profile, playing in the vivacious crown of her curls. She breathed deeply, preparing to speak again. \"That is it, in fact. I am a seriously fucked up individual, and I am aware of it. This is the life I have to live. So I either live it or not.\"

Hermione moistened her mouth- sharp, metal teeth stabbing into the soft tissue of her larynx, causing her to gasp with pain. \"You are… not, you know. You are…\"

The brown haired girl gave her a crooked smile. \"You are lovely, too. When you finally shut your mouth. Now go to sleep. I want to watch the street as long as it\'s dark and I\'m allowed to remove the magical concealments.\"

* * *

Sneaking from school on a Hogsmeade weekend, Harry used the opportunity to come and visit her once again. Doing his best to ignore the stares, he gladly followed Hermione into the room she shared with Chloe, relieved to be out of the center of attention. In what Hermione finally discerned was his usual manner, Harry sank beside her on the bed, curling beside her like a lost puppy. It never occurred to her before, and slightly embarrassed by her lack of observation, she laced her fingers through Harry\'s messy hair, providing him with the warmth and the simple human touch he so desperately craved.

Chloe, who had been out of the room at the time, appeared at the door followed by Jervy. Seeing the two together, she disappeared unnoticed; her mouth twitching as she realized Jervy had remembered Harry.

Inside the room, Harry and Hermione sat quietly for a while. \"You are… softer,\" he said at last. \"Easier. Though I\'m not sure. Perhaps it\'s just me, missing you more.\"

She nodded. \"No, no… I think you\'re right… You know, I sometimes wonder, how everything you had been through would make you… so giddy. Did you know you\'re giddy? While I- I am so withdrawn and harsh-\"

\"Not anymore,\" he cut across her, looking at her behind the thick lenses of his spectacles. \"Not like before.\"

She bit on her lower lip. \"But I\'m not even sure if it\'s good, Harry! I… sometimes it feels like I\'m crumbling… all my walls, my defenses- they are no longer functioning, I cry at every foolish thing. I am unsafe, unprotected… I-\" she bit her lower lip to stop its trembling, \"I miss him so much. It\'s like a having a gaping hole in the middle of my body. I can\'t breathe for missing him.\"

\"I would\'ve told you everything is going to be all right, but…\" Harry frowned.

She nodded. \"I know. It won\'t.\" She closed her eyes. \"It would be… different.\"

\"Do you believe there\'s only one person for us?\"

\"You know I find these Muggle mysticisms to be utter crap.\"

\"Wizards believe in soul mates.\" He gave her a quizzical look.

\"Wizards believe that blood purity is an indicator of magical capability.\"

Harry gave a low sigh. \"You\'re probably right.\"

\"Anyhow…\" she touched her index finger to her abused lower lip. \"People grow old… they change with time- the person who seemed to be the love of our life at seventeen my not be the one for us at twenty…\"

\"I don\'t think I\'ll ever stop loving Draco.\"

\"That\'s a bit…\" she had carefully looked for an adjective, \"unequivocal. Rash. You\'re only seventeen. You might change your mind in due time, don’t you think?\"

\"Yes, yes, it is. But I realize that… well, in a sense, that\'s how I am. That\'s how you are, too. We know our minds- and we\'re steady, you see? What we need, it doesn\'t change. Our hearts don\'t change. We are stupid, sentimental Gryffindors, and we\'re steady at that.\"

She swallowed past the soreness in her throat. \"You mean steady as in: doomed to love one person for the rest of eternity?\"

\"Now that\'s Muggle mysticism,\" Harry told her. \"I just want to be off with Draco- go away when all of this is over, to a place where nobody recognizes us, where there\'s no prejudice and no Harry Potter. Just me and him, and perhaps a piece of shore…\" his eyelids closed, and he snuggled closer, pressing his head into her bosom. \"I\'d really like to do that.\"

\"It sounds lovely,\" she said at last. \"Perhaps once the war is over…\"

\"Yeah.\" He reached to remove his glasses, allowing Hermione to take them and put them on the night table. \"Do you have any plans for the future?\"

\"Me?\"

\"Don’t you ever think of what you\'d like to do once we\'re done with this mess?\"

She let her head drop backward, blinking through shreds of images misleading her like pixies towards wavering visions of possible futures. \"I\'ve been… so distracted lately that I hardly had… the inclination of making future plans.\"

\"And when I ask you now?\"

She blinked. \"I… well.\" Words came with difficulty, and she was astounded to realize the university education she had once longed for had suddenly seemed so dull. Faced with this new reality, adapting her expectations all at once, she felt pulled and worn beyond her measures, striped with stretch marks; ugly and used. \"I… just me, and him. To do some study, I suppose. Maybe do some traveling. Do some research. Nothing fancy.\"

\"I\'d like that, for you.\" Harry gave her a little smile, angelic contentment pouring over his doll-like features as she stroked his hair. \"By the way … about… him,\" he went on, clearing his throat nervously.

\"What about him?\" she asked, tensing at once.

\"We met him, a while ago, at the Circle.\" Harry swallowed loudly. \"He sent me a letter, through Professor MacGonagall, telling me about how the Stones work. Then we went there- me, Ron and Draco. I summoned the Needfire. I was stronger than before.\"

Hermione nodded, considering his words quietly. Sweet Harry, you do not wish to pain me and how carefully you navigate the blade inside the open flesh, so gently your touch is almost clinical. Sometimes I almost wish for a sharp blow. \"How… how did he look?\" she asked after several moments of silence.

Harry\'s brow wrinkled with a deep, somewhat childish frown. \"Well- he is… him. You know,\" he told her, appearing somewhat relieved when Hermione answered with a crooked smile. \"But then… he\'s… pale. And he looks… maybe thinner. Though you can hardly tell with those robes.\" Harry\'s lips twitched. \"I think he misses you.\"

\"I wish someone would take care of him.\" She didn\'t mean it to be so, but the tears soaked through the thin cracks in her voice, making it quiver.

\"I\'ll try. But he\'s not at Hogwarts much.\"

\"You\'re sweet. I\'m just trying to imagine you attempting to take care of Snape.\"

\"That should horrify you,\" Harry made his input, \"not make you laugh.\"

\"You\'re probably right.\"

He shrugged. \"Things will be all right. They have to be all right. I\'m sick of everything being wrong with my life.\"

She rolled her eyes. \"So saying it will be all right will make everything okay?\"

\"No. I would.\"

\"Really?\"

He rolled on his back, looking at her. \"I\'ve been doing some thinking lately.\"

\"Did you?\"

\"Yeah.\" Harry nodded. \"And I came to a conclusion- about my role in the war, and everything. I\'ve been thinking of myself as a victim for quite a while. A pawn, someone who had been trained to do the dirty jobs. But you know, I think I\'m okay with it. Not as if I like it or think it\'s right, because I don\'t. But I\'m stuck with this role of ending Voldemort, and I\'ll do it. Not only because that\'s what everyone expects me to do or because there\'s no one else to do it- but because I\'m fucking sick of him dictating my life. I want this over. I want out. And I\'m tired of being a victim. So I\'m not. You see, it\'s that simple.\"

* * *

The weather was warming gradually. Even the enchanted sunrays, as Chloe used to mention bitterly, had warmed up. It was a week or so after Harry\'s visit that she found herself seated in Amanda\'s office, straying to the large window-seat in order to absorb some of the magical sun. Light poured on her face and memories seemed to pour from her mind as she sat there, wondering at this new ease in which she had been disassembled. Reduced to tears.

\"Do you wish to tell me about it?\" Amanda probed gently.

Another seemingly random string of memories floated onto the surface of her perception this session, and she had been shivering as the Healer scanned them, dissected them, and put them back into place.

\"What can I tell you about it?\" she asked in a hollow voice.

\"Tell me about the faceless boy in the Slytherin Quidditch uniform you met behind the broom shed.\"

\"He\'s no one.\"

The older woman gave her a quizzical look.

\"He\'s everyone.\"

\"Snape, too?\"

\"Especially Snape.\"

\"And Harry?\"

Hermione shook her head. \"No. Not Harry.\"

\"Your father?\"

\"I suppose so.\"

\"Why not Harry, then?\" Amanda bright eyes narrowed, as if she was trying to capture an idea, an archetype, within their clear, glowing depths.

She released a loud sigh. \"Because Harry is… sweet. Delicate. Hurt. Harry is… clean.\"

\"But your father is a dentist,\" the healer rebutted. \"A Muggle doctor. He works with disinfectants and sterilizers. Do you suggest he is unclean?\"

She shook her head, images flooding her mind. Lester, reaching for her as they sat together on the sofa, listening to his music or watching her television programs, his hands wandering along her childish body; warm and smelling of shower and sleep when she crawled into her parents\' bed on holidays and Sundays… milky skin, mustache, bright, wavering eyes… \"Sweaty- his palms… were sometimes sweaty.\" She bit on her lower lip. \"It\'s not him, damn it. It\'s me, me. Me, being dirty, after he touched me… It\'s just felt… wrong, so fucking wrong. I was sitting on the porch one afternoon, eating biscuits… Donna sent me outside so I wouldn\'t dirty her sofas, and he came, sitting there beside me-\" a heavy lump settled in her throat and she reached her hand to massage it, as if attempting to swallow it down. \"Chocolate biscuits, still warm from the bakery. She hardly ever brought me sweets. Not good for the teeth, you see. So I was sent away, to fumble with the biscuits while she was planning her last dinner party. He joined me on the porch… I\'d prefer we didn\'t talk about it.\"

Amanda watched her quietly for a while, saying nothing. She didn\'t urge. She didn\'t push. Her eyes and her eyes alone moved about the room, casting about in small, measured movements, groping and calculating angles and miens. At last, weakened by the healer\'s steady scrutiny, Hermione resumed her restrained speech.

\"I was nibbling on my biscuits. He was… touching me. There were crumbs. On my shirt. On my cutoffs. On my fingers. He would lick them off my fingers. I despised that, but said nothing. I liked… his touching. I hated…\" she inhaled deeply, \"I hated liking to be touched that way. It seemed… wrong. Then I brushed the crumbs off my shirt and went to the sink, to wash his saliva off my hands. To wash my… hands.\" She frowned, wiping away a stray tear, which somehow escaped the confinement of her left eye. \"Then later… I\'d take a shower or scrape my hands, and everything would be all right again. Clean. Sterile. Balanced. White. Did you know white is the lack of colour?\" Hermione sniffed. \"I wanted a white house with a white bathroom and a white bed with white sheets and no one, ever, to share it with me.\"

Amanda nodded, handing her a white tissue.

She blew her nose. \"This isn\'t helping!\"

\"I didn\'t say it would help immediately,\" the other woman said quietly.

\"I feel so…\" Hermione swooned in her place angrily, looking for the right word. \"Contaminated. You tear me apart, then you rummage through the shreds, replacing them, rearranging me- have you ever though the exposure might be deadly??\"

\"Yes,\" answered Amanda. \"The exposure is meant to kill those weeds growing wild in your soul, preventing you from growing tall and strong and assured.\"

\"It hurts!\" she cried, burying her face in her hands. \"You hurt me.\"

The healer exhaled sadly. \"Yes, I\'m afraid I do, child. I\'m afraid I have to. But no more than you hurt yourself.\"