Chapters 11-20

Long Term Effects

She winced and her cold hands cramped into white-knuckled fists. But she did not turn away, meeting that black gaze as calmly as she could.

‘I’m sorry, sir.’

His dark eyes narrowed derisively, but his throat only produced a barely audible rasp. However, he did not need to say anything. She understood him well enough without hearing aloud what he would have said.

‘How typically Gryffindor. Acting first and thinking later. Although I would have expected better of you, Miss Granger. Or was I mistaken by the impression that you always know everything? Better than Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, and now apparently, better than I do?’

She winced again, but still she did not look away. ‘I just couldn’t …’

Unable to finish her sentence, she fell silent and just sat there, looking at him.

To her surprise, he did not turn his head away or close his eyes. Instead he simply returned her gaze, with eyes that were much too dark for his pale face. His features … empty…exhausted. Tears burned in her eyes. But she was getting better at not crying.

When Healer Mugwort opened the door again, Hermione was still sitting at Snape’s bed. She looked up and tried to smile. The expression felt strange and deliberate on her face, and when the healer raised an eyebrow at her, she gave up on her feeble attempt.

She turned back to face her professor, who still hadn’t moved.

‘I will come back if I may, sir.’

He rolled his eyes in answer and gave another, almost imperceptible shrug of his too thin shoulders.

‘Does it look as if I were able to stop such advances? Suit yourself, Miss Granger, as you will do anyway, whether I‘d like it or not.’

oooOooo

Once in the Healer’s small office, Hermione leaned exhaustedly against the wall. She felt as drained as after an hours-long exam. ‘Sit down. Sit down!’ Mugwort took her at the arm and led her to her usual chair. With a flick of her wand, the Healer produced tea for two. With another, the grey-haired witch accio‘ed a small red bottle from one of her shelves. ‘Just a spoonful of Pepper-Up-Potion,’ she declared. ‘Open up, girl. Or I’ll make it Invigoration Draught and that doesn’t taste half as nice.’

Hermione obediently swallowed the Pepper-Up, gasping and sputtering only a little when the peppery potion burned its way down to her stomach. Her eyes watered.

‘I think I could come to appreciate Headmistress McGonagall’s whisky,’ she wheezed. ‘Similar effect, but more pleasant on the tongue.’

Mugwort snorted. ‘So Minerva shared her whisky with you? She must like you.’

Hermione blinked in surprise. ‘You know Headmistress McGonagall?’

The older witch afforded her a cunning grin. ‘We went to school together. We always got along well, for all I was in Slytherin and she in Gryffindor.’

Another surprise. If Hermione’d had to guess, she’d probably have sorted Muriel Mugwort into Hufflepuff.

‘House allegiance isn’t everything, you know, girl? It shouldn’t be at school, and most certainly should not matter once you’re grown up and out in the world.’ The Healer sniffed. ‘Of course in some old habits die hard.’

Hermione flinched, as heat rose in her cheeks. She really should know better, after all that had happened. But as the Healer said: old habits sometimes had a longer life-span than they ought to.

‘When will he be able to talk?‘ she asked, deliberately changing the topic.

Mugwort didn’t answer. Instead she picked up her cup and took a deep swallow. Then she proceeded to slowly turn the mug—green ivy wrapping around a black background—in her hands. At last she sighed.

‘I don’t really know IF he will be able to speak again. He should be. We placed a stasis spell on his injuries while we drained the venom from his body. When his body would respond to magical healing again, we repaired all the damage his body had sustained. I don’t think there’s even a scar on the inside of that stiff neck of his. But see, vocal cords are a touchy part of human anatomy. There may be long term effects even though organically speaking he ought to be all right. Wizard-healers, for all our learning and our magical power, aren’t much good with long-term effects on a body, anything that can’t be put to rights at once.’

Hermione stared at her own cup. Steam drifted over the pale yellow of lime, balm and chamomile tea. She didn’t much care for the taste, but it was soothing for her nerves without interfering with the Pepper-Up. Long-term effects. She definitely knew more about that than magical healers. Her mother had been involved in dental surgery, repairing jaws and teeth smashed in traffic accidents and the like.

‘Speech therapy,’ she said at last. ‘What he needs is speech therapy. If he’s physically all right, he needs someone to guide his healing process and to make him exercise properly.’

Mugwort frowned at her. ‘What kind of therapy is that? I’ve never heard of that before.’

‘Oh, you wouldn’t,’ Hermione replied. ‘It’s a Muggle thing. Without magic, you have to deal with many long-term effects of illness and accidents.’ She sighed. ‘So there’s no magical speech therapy? Too bad.’

Then an idea struck. ‘Could we bring in a Muggle therapist? I happen to know a very good one. The hospital where my mother works—’ She caught herself and gulped. ‘Where my mother worked, she sometimes called a speech therapist in even before she started surgery. Of course I guess you’d have to Obliviate her afterwards…so probably not…’

‘Hmmm…’ Mugwort put her mug on the table and steepled her fingers thoughtfully. ‘Maybe and maybe not. It is worth a try—and I know just whom to approach about this. Severus would certainly feel much better if he was able to lash out with that wicked tongue of his again.

‘What’s the name?’

‘Lois Petrel,’ Hermione said.