Hysteria

A/N: A huge thank you to Softobsidian74 for alpha reading and feedback and to robs55 for the splendid beta!

Warning: There is a lst bit of potentially controversial content at the end of this chapter!

Review responses can be found here:

http://lady-of-clunn. livejournal. com/ 86710.html

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Forfex

A shadow moved next to her bed. Hermione was certain that she had seen it out of the corner of her eye. But now... The darkness painted patterns on the walls and twisted innocent objects into hunched figures and tall wizards in healer’s robes hiding behind the curtains and wardrobes.

Hermione bit her lip hard, fighting to contain her instinct to run. Running would only make it worse.

I am safe.

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she slid her feet to the floor and stood, wobbling slightly. A few steps to the wardrobe; just a shadow.

Her heart was beating as if it would break out of her chest.

One more step.

She leaned her forehead against the smooth wood of the piece of furniture. A bathrobe hung from a hook at the side of the wardrobe. Only a bathrobe.

With determination she moved to the window, ignoring all of the suspicious shapes around her, and threw the curtains aside. The clear night revealed towels draped over a chair and a vase with a tasteful arrangement of winter greens.

The staccato of her heart did not slow; she felt the urge to breathe rapidly to compensate.

No longer forced to wait out the night in her bed, she drew the duvet from it and made a nest in the far corner of the room. Huddled in its warmth she could oversee the entire room. For a short time the clear glass globe on her bedside cabinet caught her eye. No, she would not use it. Never. Finally feeling secure enough to close her eyes, she rested her head against the cool wall.


***


“Good morning, Miss Granger. Would you like breakfast?”

The nurse stopped abruptly and fled from the room in a panic. Bleary with sleep, Hermione could hear her shouting for healer Malfoy.

Oh no. It was not allowed to not sleep in the bed? She fought to disentangle her limbs, stiff from sleeping in such an uncomfortable position. Maybe she could make it to the bed before they came for her.

She was only a few steps away from the hardly-slept in bed when she heard them.

“Have you even checked the bathroom?”

“Malfoy, if you lost her...”

The second voice left the threat unspoken. It sounded familiar.

“Hermione?”

Harry had appeared in the doorway, shouting her name. She let the duvet fall to the ground and walked straight into his arms.

He held her close, burying his face in the hair on top of her head.

“Thank Merlin you are here.”

She did not answer, but burrowed deeper into his chest.

“I couldn’t find you. I am so sorry.”

She shook her head no into his robes and clung to him.

His hand left her back and stroked her hair tenderly.

“Would you like to dress? I brought some of your things.”

Dress?

Hermione looked up, enjoying the sight of his gentle face.

“Yes, please.”

Malfoy had lingered in the background, nodding to her once in greeting then appearing very busy scratching away on a whole stack of parchments. After a few minutes he had announced that he would be back later, sounding very relieved to make his exit.

She sat at the edge of the bed and watched him unpack the small trunk. Several comfortable sets of trousers and pullovers, comfy tracksuit bottoms and fuzzy socks went into the wardrobe. He fumbled a bit with her underwear but managed bravely to pile knickers and bras onto the boards. A few books that she remembered had been stacked near her bed in her flat were now piled on her bedside cabinet and the small table near the window.

Having Harry here made her feel connected to the world. A long time seemed to have passed.

He excused himself with a small kiss on her head, giving her privacy to change.

The simple task was exhausting. Her feet fought their way into the legs of the tracksuit bottoms, getting stuck and tangled more than once. Closing her bra in front was easy but moving the clasp to her back took considerably more strength than she remembered. Pulling the warm pullover over her head had her sweating and longing for a nap.

She had to sit on the edge of the bathtub to brush her teeth and remained on the toilet much longer than necessary, cold sweat on her brow.

When she made it to the door, which she found was not locked, she felt weak and her legs trembled with relief.

“You okay?”

She nodded. Harry pushed himself off the wall and offered her his arm.

“I think Malfoy has breakfast ready. There is some stuff I need to tell you about.”

‘Stuff’ that she needed to hear about sitting down? Hermione took Harry’s arm and let him lead her to a small conference room with a rectangular table that was partly laden with breakfast foods. Eggs and grilled tomatoes, mushrooms and baked beans, toast, butter, jam and marmalade, steaming tea, bangers and fried bread, cornflakes and fresh milk. The multitude of aromas was as enticing as it was overwhelming and revolting.

She swallowed hard and swayed a little.

Malfoy quickly stood to cast a diagnostic charm and nodded encouragingly.

“All in the normal range.”

“Er, could we maybe get rid of the sausage and eggs?” She asked in a barely controlled voice as her stomach threatened to heave any second.

Malfoy went back to the papers strewn over the non-breakfast half of the table.

“Elf.”

A goggle-eyed creature appeared with a crack, took the two dishes without asking and disappeared the same way from the room.


Instantly able to breathe easier, Hermione sat down in front of one of the plate settings and looked at the still heaped food in front of her. Harry had taken the place next to her and Malfoy moved to the one directly across. She tried not to look at Harry’s plate that was already brimming with food.

Slowly, slowly, she told herself and reached for the mushroom dish.

Malfoy vaguely gestured to the serving bowls.

“The elves tend to go a bit overboard. You should start with light food after all that nutrition potion; don’t want to overtax your system. Better stay clear of the fried bread, but toast should be alright.” Her face fell and he smiled a small smile. “And the other things, too, as long as you take small portions.”

Hermione nodded and selected one mushroom and one grilled tomato. Warm breakfast was just too tempting. She was only vaguely aware that Harry and Malfoy were talking in hushed voices between bites. Buttering her toast took all her attention.

She had forgotten that anything could taste as good as toast with butter and jam. The tomato and mushroom were gone much too fast and she decided to take a risk with a small spoonful of baked beans.

Bliss.

Leaning back in her chair she turned to the two men at the table.

“Better tell me the things you need to tell me before I fall asleep.”

Harry looked at Malfoy a bit uneasily and nodded.

They moved to the other side of the table with their teacups, while the elves instantly cleared breakfast away. Hermione felt a bit sorry to see the mushrooms go.

“Granger, the transfer to my clinic was successful; there is not much that can be done to reverse this.”

Not much?

“That does not mean that de Belleme is not trying. I will not lie to you. The good news is that he did not complete the process of making you a Ministry ward. The bad news is that he, or somebody of his staff, I suppose, has leaked your name to the Daily Prophet.”

Harry slid a folded copy of the wizarding newspaper over to her, looking worried.

Hermione flipped it open so the front page became visible.


War Heroine Threatened by Insanity

Acclaimed specialist and Head Healer of ward three and a half at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies, Simon de Belleme, has the medical community aflutter with news of his new book based on the rare case of a Muggle-born witch, exhibiting the symptoms of Witches’ Hysteria.

His research is supposed to be groundbreaking in his field, as Witches’ Hysteria was believed to be primarily found in pure blood witches and rarely in Halfbloods.

The most successful way to counteract the affliction’s effects has traditionally been marriage, as it is most commonly found in unmarried witches.

Head Healer de Belleme was not available to supply us with more details or the name of the unfortunate Muggle-born witch, citing healer-patient confidentiality, but an anonymous source confirms that none other than war heroine Hermione Granger had been committed to ward three and a half for nearly two weeks, receiving extensive treatment for Witches’ Hysteria.

Hermione Granger is already in her mid-twenties and still unmarried. All hopes for a marriage between her and fellow war hero Ronald Weasley had been thwarted when the witch broke their engagement some six months ago.

This again is evidence for the validity of the old customs of our world. Muggle-born witches tend to be the ones in our community to marry the latest, which seems to be a dangerous practice.

With our community decimated by war, can we afford to let our witches go unmarried and thus be subject to debilitating ailments that could easily have them slip into insanity? Voices of the community are demanding a solution to this problem in the form of instruction in wizarding culture for Muggle-born or Muggle-raised witches and Ministry-organised marriage contracts.

Will it all be too late for our beloved war heroine? Fear not, dear readers! It is said that a valiant pureblood wizard has taken it on himself to rescue the deeply troubled witch. An application for a marriage contract has been submitted to the Ministry and is awaiting approval. The Daily Prophet will report on any development in the case.

Please see our special report on Witches’ Hysteria Symptoms and Treatment in tomorrow’s edition.

Rita Skeeter


A picture of her leaving the Ministry accompanied the article. She shouldered open the doors with too many files in her arms, a heavy bag weighing down one of her shoulders making her appear lopsided. Lifting one of her arms as far as the files would let her, she tried to rub her tired and stressed face on her robes. She remembered that she had had a migraine that day, a splitting headache that made her vision swim and her steps unsteady. And it showed.

“We were not engaged,” she said numbly.

“Granger,” Malfoy said very carefully. “That is not really the most important part of this.”

She came out of her stupor like from a long underwater swim.

“Everybody has read this. Everybody. My boss, my colleagues, my landlord...”

Harry took her hand in both of his.

“Hermione, St. Mungo’s informed your head of department as soon as you were admitted. You are suspended indefinitely for medical reasons.”

“Indefinitely...”

Harry’s thumb drew small circles on the back of her hand.

“How will I earn my living? How will I ever find another job after being publicly declared insane? How will I ever face anyone?”

Both Malfoy and Harry looked at each other and then at the surface of the tabletop.

“Oh gods, what else?”

“That marriage contract; the Ministry owled me this morning. They are requesting a survey report on whether you are fit for marriage or not. Does the name Isidor Trebetarry mean anything to you? He appears to work the night shift as an auxiliary care wizard on ward three and a half.”

Her breath hitched.

“A virile man, who would engage me at least twice a week?” she quoted him and in her head the keepers voice echoed from her time in The Treatment Room. Mornings and evenings, yes sir, and more often during my nights off duty. Her stomach revolted against the unacustomed breakfast.

Malfoy was gracious enough to look guilty and rested his forehead in his hand.
Harry turned to him with a sharp movement.

“What?”

“Calm down, Potter. I had merely stated what I would have suggested in the case of a pure blood family. Essentially, this is probably our biggest problem. The Ministry wants this solved. A quick marriage would take care of it nicely.”

Hermione had gone very pale.

“But I thought I am not a Ministry ward.”

“You also don’t have a male blood relative, who could take on the guardianship, should the Ministry not be satisfied that you are fit to make decisions.”

“That’s... barbaric. I will leave. Go to the Muggle world then.”

Malfoy snorted.

“Right, Granger. The Ministry would just let you go, believing you volatile and ready to turn insane at any minute.”

“This is it then? Some wizard will come for me, inspect my teeth and the width of my hips for breeding purposes and all he has to do to drag me off to wherever, is sign a bloody Ministry parchment? Which century is this?”

“Calm down Granger. Nobody is signing for you just yet. I will not declare you fit for marriage as long as I can possibly delay it. It will hopefully buy us some time. Time to fight this.”

Harry reached for her trembling hand that did not quite want to lay still on the table’s surface.

“I’ll marry you.”

She took his hand in both of hers and smiled a watery smile.

“You are engaged to Ginny.”

Harry leaned over with conviction, his hand holding hers in a firm grip.

“I will marry you.”

“I will not let them ruin three more lives.”

“Three?”

“Yours, Ginny’s and maybe when, one day, I meet somebody I would have liked to share my life with...”

Harry hung his head.

She stood, face halfway averted from the men at the table.

“I don’t think I will be ready for a relationship, let alone a marriage any time soon. I don’t want... I can’t...” She swallowed and her eyes grew wide in an effort to stop the tears. “Don’t let them touch me.” She fled.

Hermione only ran around the corner, feeling exhausted from excitement, walking around and eating solid food. Heavily leaning on the wall in the corridor, she breathed heavily trying to calm herself.

She could hear that next door a chair was pushed back and then Malfoy’s voice.

“No, let her be for a moment. Tell me, have your solicitors started working on countering this?”

There was a pause in which Harry must have been debating whether to follow her or not.

“Yes, they have. They say we might be able to settle outside of the Wizengamot. What about the medical side of things? And no sugar-coating, Malfoy!”

“Honestly, I don’t know how long our diversion tactics will work. Both de Belleme and Trebetarry are working furiously on recovering her.” He sighed. “I am not so concerned about de Belleme; he was sloppy in his paperwork and that’s that. Doesn’t stop him from causing a public scandal, though. The marriage contract is the real threat. With,” Draco swallowed hard, “two experts confirming the diagnosis, it will be nigh impossible to convince the Wizengamot otherwise. If I go back on my initial assessment now, after she transferred to my clinic for alternative hysteria treatment... I am afraid all we would accomplish is that they call in additional experts, who, of course, would all be very eager to examine her. In the end, Trebetarry may still seem the perfect, quick and public relations effective solution. Pure blood marries Muggle-born witch to safe her from insanity.”

Harry was very pale.

“Fuck.”

“Indeed.”


***


“Malfoy did not tell me what exactly happened in that so-called ward; he just said it was really, really bad. If you ever want to talk to me, even at half three in the morning, I want you to promise me that you will do it.” She looked away. “Please.”

Harry tried one more time.

“Please say something. I will not let anything bad happen to you.”

Hermione smiled a pained smile and cupped his cheek. She wanted to be alone. It was already dusky outside.

Helia, the nurse, was standing in the background with a tray of gauze, ointment and instruments in her hands, waiting for Harry to leave.

Harry only left the room reluctantly, promising to come back the day after tomorrow with news from his solicitors.

Helia chattered away as she changed the bandages around her wrists and ankles. Reciting every article in the current edition of Witch Weekly. Hermione learned that Blaise Zabini was single again and had once more obtained the top position of most eligible bachelor when Helia jerked upright and threw the strips of gauze and the jar of ointment on her tray before nearly running out of the room, alerted by some kind of silent alarm.

Hermione nearly called after her when she realised that the nurse had left her scissors behind on the bedside cabinet.


***


She would not let them.

Never again.

The moonlight cast a cold gleam on the scissors on her bedside cabinet. Hermione saw her hand reaching out and closing around the instrument. As if in a dream, she could see herself moving but was unable or unwilling to interfere.

With unhurried steps she moved to the window and knelt down on the hard stone floor. When she leant back she could see the large, silvery-white moon in a piece of clear night sky between the spidery black outline of tall, old trees. It was a moon promising frost on the lawns and branches in the morning.

Pretty.

Thinking of snow that might fall soon, Hermione drew her nightgown up over her thighs to her waist until the frill at the hem rested near her hip.

Exhaling, she slid two fingers of her left hand in between her legs.

She had been hesitant to touch, convinced she would not be able to bear it. Relief made her breathe deeply. It was no different from touching her earlobe.

Bright stars twinkled through the bare branches outside.

Her fingertips slid over her smooth mound. Was that charm that Malfoy had employed so long ago permanent? Or had it been renewed at the ward? She explored the fleshy parts at the top of her sex.

There.

There it was.

She used her other fingers to spread herself, the little nub exposed by her position.

A second.

A second and it would all be over.

Safe.

Just a second.

She knew she would not pause in her movement once in motion. The scissors securely in her hand she brought it between her legs.

The metal was cold on her skin but warmed quickly.

The shears opened effortlessly and she fumbled a bit to find the right angle for its blades.

A gust of wind made the branches outside the window sway and had the stars blinking in and out of existence with their movement.

A second.

She brought the scissors closer to her body.

Such a pretty night.

A hand clamped down over the open blades of the scissors, holding them firmly apart before yanking her arm up high.

Another hand closed over her wrist, holding her arm stretched as far from her body as possible while the scissors were wrenched from her and thrown to the far end of the room.

Stunned, she let both her arms be pinned closely to her chest as the hand was thrust between her thighs, fingers searching frantically.

Finding her whole, Draco’s body behind her went slack.

“Oh, thank Merlin.”

She could feel his forehead on her shoulder, quick, sharp breaths against the cotton of her nightgown.

“Thank Merlin.”

Now both arms wrapped around her from behind, holding her closely to him.

“There is always, always, an alternative.”

At least he did not ask ‘why’. She felt his arms tighten.

“I do not want to restrain you.”

“If you can’t be my healer anymore, where will you send me?”