Into The Light

I own nothing you recognise. This chapter was beta-ed by the Amazing!Alexandria!

Severus re-entered the infirmary little less than twenty minutes later, with Potter (still rather ill looking) and Dumbledore behind him. Dumbledore handed Madame Pomfrey a note, then immediately crooked a finger at Granger’s parents and took them out into the hall, from which sobs started emanating the second the door slid closed.

Potter and Severus shared a look, which was hastily cut short by the latter when he realised what he was doing. Together, they approached the bed.

“Instruct her to address you by your Christian name, Severus,” Albus advised on the way back to the infirmary. “It will subconsciously re-enforce that we are all equals, and she is inferior to no one.”

Severus looked at the girl who had abandoned the bowl of soup obviously foisted upon her by Poppy, and was staring at them – Severus with something akin to desperation mixed with adoration, and Potter with extreme wariness.

“Miss-” Severus started to say, but then cut himself off. ”You must also call her by her first name,” continued the Headmaster, “for it will support the feeling of equality, and deepen the feeling of security and trust between you. Not to mention, it will keep reminding her who she is.”

Severus took a deep breath, and tried not to speak from between gritted teeth. “Hermione,” he finally ground out, after some internal wrestling with his pride. “I have been set in charge of your recovery, with-” More internal wrestling, fiercer this time. Eventually, he gritted his teeth and growled the words through them. “Harry, your friend here. Once you have finished your meal, we shall set to moving you into quarters adjacent to mine.”

The girl nodded eagerly. “Yes Master,” she said, her voice more breathy than he remembered it.

He shook his head at her words. “No Hermione, you will address me as Severus.” She looked both a little frightened and confused. “Repeat after me,” he sighed, making a mental note to take things as slowly as possible. “Severus.”

“S-Sev-Severus.” She stuttered. He nodded and tried to smile.

“And I’m Harry,” said Potter, butting in, and causing the girl to recoil with fear. “Harry, Hermione, I’m Harry.” He seemed so eager to have her say his name that he was practically bouncing on his toes on the spot. She was slowly crawling backwards away from them, until she reached the wall, casting desperate looks at Severus and whimpering quietly.

“Calm down Potter,” Severus hissed out of the side of his mouth. “You are scaring her, dolt. Although if you wish for her to revert permanently and never recover, you are doing a fine job.”

Potter looked crestfallen, and stepped away from the bed.

At that moment, Poppy emerged from her office and frowned seeing her patient engaged in an activity other than eating. Stepping over, she shoved the nearly full bowl back in front of her.

“You aren’t going anywhere until that is eaten, I will remind you.” She snapped. “Severus, a word, please.”

Granger gave him a questioning look. “I would advise you to finish,” he informed her drolly. “It is never wise to cross Madame Pomfrey.”

He followed the mediwitch in question in to her office, which looked much like his own down in the dungeons – shelf upon shelf of potions and their ingredients, with copious piles of books liberally scattered around. The only difference was a ceiling to floor window on the south side, which gave the room a light and airy feel, rather than the dank, suppressive one in his office. He allowed himself a moment of envy before Poppy started speaking.

“I’ll have you know I don’t agree with moving her, not this soon. She hasn’t built up the necessary muscle to move around, never mind adequate fat reserves. But the Headmaster informs me that this is crucial to the rebuilding of her psyche, so I will allow it, but will have to check on her twice a day for at least the first month. She must also drink a nutrient broth every fours hour – you shall have to wake her up in the night to do it. And her nightmares haven’t stopped.”

“I have the dreamless sleep potion,” Severus reminded her. She nodded brusquely.

“There is one other factor you should be aware of,” she sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, as if this mere fact was enough to bring on a migraine. “The Ministry is extremely keen on finding who did this to her, and I’ve been blocking owls all morning. I can delay them for a week, if I’m lucky, before she turns up here and refuses to take no for an answer when it comes to questioning her.”

“Questioning her?” hissed Severus, appalled. “She can barely string together a coherent sentence for me, let alone some unknown busybody for the Ministry.”

“It gets worse,” said Poppy. “As luck would have it, this isn’t some unknown busybody.”

“Worse? Who-” he started then stopped. “Moody. No – you said ‘she’ – Tonks?”

“No, it isn’t an Auror, they’re all still hunting down Death Eaters; this is someone more from the administrative side of things.”

Severus groaned, suspicions rising. “Tell me,” he said, feeling a headache coming on and a sudden sympathy for Poppy, “that this ‘she’ isn’t Umbridge.”

“Sorry Severus,” she held out a piece of parchment, and sure enough, at the bottom in that disgustingly over-curly cursive was scribbled ‘Dolores Umbridge’.

“Why?” he asked, when the urge to hex something had passed sufficiently that he could speak. “They must be aware of the history-”

“That’s why they say she’s been assigned,” sighed Poppy, “their reasoning is that it would be easier to be questioned by a known face then some anonymous drone. I’ve informed her superior of their less than friendly relationship, but Umbridge is denying that any animosity ever existed between them at all, so she is staying on the case.”

“Why would she do that? She must know she will receive a far from pleasant welcome.” Severus couldn’t help but think of all the tasteless and odourless poisons that could be so easily slipped into drinks while she was here.

“It’s high profile,” said Pomfrey immediately. “It’s not just Ministry owls I’ve gotten. Skeeter from the Prophet, Lovegood from the Quibbler, at least two journalists from each of those publications that cropped up after Fudge’s departure - the Oracle has sent me fifteen in the last half an hour. There’s been a leak, and they want all the information they can get.”

It was a headache verging on a migraine now. “And after the way she was slated after her term here, she now wants back into everyone’s good books by playing avenging angel.”

“Exactly.” Poppy looked angry. “But I hope you will at least be able to nip that ambition in the bud.”

“I shall do my utmost and take great pleasure in it.”

Poppy nodded, seeming satisfied. “You’ll need clothes,” she said, suddenly.

“What?” he asked, confused.

“Clothes, you’ll need clothes for her.”

“But her parents – didn’t they bring her things?”

Poppy shook her head. “They donated them after the memorial service to a muggle charity – they thought it was what she would have wanted.”

He sighed. “Fine, clothes, it shall go on my list.”

“There’s the Wardrobe of Necessity if you don’t have anything now, but it’s getting old, you’ll probably only get three items out of it at most.”

He nodded and thanked her, then re-entered the ward.

He found Potter had seated himself on the bed opposite the girl. He was staring at her with a desperate look in his eyes, like he would make her remember him by sheer force of will. She was staring at him with a look of near-panic in her eyes, as if he were a rabid dog that would leap on her and rip her to shreds if she moved. The soup had not been touched.

“Potter!” he yelled. The boy insolently turned his head, and sneered at him, but his eyes stayed on Hermione. “You are frightening her, and distracting her. If you wish for me to allow you to see her within the next week, I would suggest you stop both, and allow her to finish her meal.”

“You can’t do stop me from seeing her!”

“I can and will, and I doubt very much that she would object.”

Potter snarled at him, but then dropped his eyes and slid off the bed, sloping towards the open doors – it seemed the Headmaster and her parents had departed for the moment.

Severus motioned for the girl to eat, which she promptly began doing, then approached the wardrobe. It was old oak, stain darkened to a rich, tactile brown, with ornate, flowery carvings on both the doors – these carvings were partially obscured, however, by the numerous chips, cracks and scratches over its surface. It was indeed old, and had apparently been well used.

It had been several years since Severus had used one of these items, but they were quite simple. You pictured the style of clothing you wanted – trousers, skirts, tops, and the approximate size and colour. You directed this thought at the wardrobe for ten seconds, then opened the doors, and inside would be the requested items – approximately. It was not uncommon for the wardrobe to take some artistic liberties with your requests, which was why these items were relatively unpopular – it was very hard to find a wardrobe with good taste.

“Hermione,” he said, making her look up from a mouthful of soup – which had to be stone cold by now, he thought. “What is your favourite colour?”

She looked shocked for a good ten seconds, then became confused, then started looking as if she was becoming very quickly overwhelmed. Her eyes darted from side to side, and she started shaking.

“Never mind,” he said, quickly. “Just finish your soup. Potter!”

The boy turned and Severus could actually see him warring with his nostrils in an effort not to sneer at him. “Yes?”

“What is her favourite colour?”

He looked quite shocked, then glanced towards Hermione, who had abandoned the spoon and was sipping the soup out of the side of the bowl. “Hermione?” he said, taking a step towards her. She set the bowl down, then when she saw he was coming closer scooted backwards. “Hermione, your favourite colour?” She started shaking her head vigorously, getting faster, and shaking. Potter backed away, and she became calm again. He slumped, as if all the fight had suddenly gone out of him.

“Blue,” he whispered, sounding defeated. “She always liked blue.”