Chapters 101-110

Not Good At All

They arrived with a CRACK at a discreet spot just beyond the gardens of Hogwarts. Headmistress McGonagall, along with Madam Pomfrey and Healer Mugwort, were already waiting for them. Alina stood a few feet away, small and pale, her hands clutching the smallest Necromantic bell to her chest.

With Harry’s help Hermione lowered her husband’s tall frame to the ground. Snape did not gain consciousness or react in any way to the change of his surroundings. He simply lay on the damp green grass in black robes that were much too short for him. Now and again a wrenching shudder gripped his body.

Healer Mugwort and Madam Pomfrey moved towards Snape at once, their wands drawn, their expressions grim, Hermione took a step back. Desperately, she twisted her fingers together. A sudden shiver ran down her spine and made her tremble. Suddenly a strong hand gripped her elbow and steadier her. ‘Take a deep breath, girl,’ Minerva McGonagall’s voice admonished her, the deep roll of her r’s betraying the fact that the Headmistress was not as composed as she appeared to be. ‘You brought him back.’

Hermione swallowed hard and exhaled deeply. But her knees remained wobbly. In front of her, the two witches finished their diagnostic spells. When Mugwort flicked her wand, Severus’ body obediently lifted to float in the air, with Harry’s robes trailing on the ground below him.

Madam Pomfrey stepped up to Hermione and Minerva. Her face was set in grim lines.

‘He’s alive, but we cannot wake him. You’ll need the help of that little girl to bring him back from wherever he escaped to.’ The Hogwarts matron cast a sympathetic glance at Alina. Then she turned to Hermione and spoke in a lowered voice. ‘He’s suffering from dehydration, malnutrition and hypothermia. He was beaten up and raped. However, if we can bring him back, I don’t think he has sustained any life-threatening injuries. His mental state is of course a different matter.’

Hermione just stared at the lifeless form of her husband as it hovered above the green grass. She’d never noticed before how lush and green the grass still was in September. Her fingernails bit painfully into her palms.

Next to her someone inhaled deeply. She looked up and realised that Harry was still there—and he was looking positively murderous. ‘That guard,’ he ground out between gritted teeth. ‘He’ll wish he’d never been born.’

Madam Pomfrey sniffed appreciatively. But Mugwort met Harry’s eyes squarely. ‘If his guards had been Dementors, Mr. Potter, your friend’s husband might even be dead by now. What kind of guards did you expect in a place like Azkaban? Teddy-bears? And now I suggest that we get going.’

oooOooo

Healer Mugwort turned to Hermione and reached for her hands. Her grip was strong and solid. Hazel eyes met Hermione’s without hesitation. ‘He has suffered through worse before. And he is no longer alone. He may not be able to show that, but it will make a difference.’

Hermione nodded mutely. She wanted to believe the Healer’s words. But she felt so horribly helpless.

‘Here,’ Mugwort said and pressed a jar of bruise balm into Hermione’s hands. ‘We’ll treat his injuries while he’s floating around in limbo. Then you and that little Necromancer can bring him back.’

oooOooo

He was fragile under her fingers. She could count his ribs. His skin felt like paper, thin and dry. Her gentle ministrations seemed to leave more bruises instead of healing the ones that already disfigured his body.

It was strange to touch him in such an intimate manner while he was unconscious. Especially as he had been so careful not to expose himself to her like this before, always keeping back, always withdrawing whenever they had come too close.

But Madam Pomfrey and especially Healer Mugwort made it easier. Both women kept up a running commentary about what they did and why—salves to ease bruises and lacerations, inside and out, spells to fuse together broken ribs and charms to warm his body slowly. Curiously enough they used a Muggle device to combat his dehydration: an IV that serenely floated midair next to the four poster bed.

The healers were very matter-of-factly and confident in what they did. They never seemed to notice his nakedness, his helplessness, the tears in Hermione’s eyes or her shaking hands. That helped. And disconcerting as it was, it also helped that Severus remained unconscious and unaware the whole time they treated him.

oooOooo

‘Alina?’ Hermione’s voice echoed in the corridor. ‘We need you now.’

Alina jumped, her heart racing. It had been awful to wait in the corridor in front of the entrance to the private quarters of her Head of House. Every now and again one of her friends had peeked around the corner at the far end of the hallway, but none had dared to come closer. Rumours were flying faster than eagle-owls between the Houses. By now there was probably no pupil in Hogwarts who didn’t know that Professor Snape had been brought back.

Alina nodded and clutched her bell closer. They’d talked about it and decided that it would be best if Alina put Hermione to sleep so they could both go and look for Professor Snape, because Hermione was more likely to find him. But only Alina could bring him back. The really tricky part was that they couldn’t risk to ring the bell where Professor Snape might hear it, because they didn’t know what it would do. So they had to do that in Hermione’s quarters. The Headmistress had even bespelled Hermione’s bedroom, to keep the sound of the bell Ranna contained. Once Alina and Hermione were asleep, Healer Mugwort would look in on them, while Madam Pomfrey would guard Professor Snape.

Alina took a deep breath. Hermione looked awful. Her face was white. Her lips, too. Her hair was as wild as her eyes.

She looked so horribly scared.

It wasn’t good if adults looked that scared. Not good at all.