Chapters 111-120

Help and Helplessness

‘Severus?’ she asked. ‘What’s wrong? You were screaming in your sleep.’

Sweaty strands of hair clung to skin damp with sweat. The sharp creases between his brows and around his mouth indicated that he was in considerable pain.

‘I’ll go and get Poppy,’ Hermione said.

‘No!’ His eyes flew open. His hand jerked as if he wanted to reach for her. It made her feel hollow and helpless to realise that she was becoming as much a touchstone to him as he was to her. With the notable difference that there always seemed to be so damn little she could do for him.

A blue witch-light appeared at a flick of her wand and floated calmly above their heads. Hermione laid her wand aside. She took his hand in hers. He was definitely running a temperature. Gently she stroked his fingers.

‘Do you want to talk?’ she asked in a soft voice.

His eyes stared at the ceiling, black and bleak and glazed with fever.

‘No,’ he said, his voice hoarse. Even two years after Nagini’s attack, his voice remained fragile. After a while, he added, ‘Lois always tried to get me to talk, too. Not just—’ His right hand crept to the purple scar at his throat. ‘Not just for her exercises.’

‘And did you?’

He shook his head. ‘Not much. Could you—could you maybe put a hand on my forehead? Your hands are so wonderful…and cold.’

‘For once that’s a good thing, huh?’ She nestled against him and rested her right hand on his forehead, while her left twined through his fingers. She watched him closely. He did need medical assistance, but maybe not right now. Especially if he was willing to talk about what bothered him.

‘I am aware of the theory of Muggle psychotherapy.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Though I still fail to see why it should matter how I feel.’

‘But it does,’ Hermione objected. ‘It matters to me. You matter to me.’

His feverish gaze caught hers. An expression of desperate astonishment flickered across his face. ‘I—know. Foolish woman.’

‘You’re certainly not the only one to think so,’ Hermione commented.

‘Ha!’ But the sound noticeably lacked rancour. ‘Talking did help me, once,’ Severus admitted. His voice had taken on an almost dreamy quality. ‘When I thought I couldn’t take it anymore.—Abbé Rigaud. Must have been the strangest confession he ever heard. Though you couldn’t tell from how he reacted. Frenchmen. Always so damn nonchalant. How odd that I found solace among the only foes of the wizarding world that are more dangerous than Grindelwald and Voldemort put together …’

He appeared to drift off for a bit, lids lowering. Hermione hardly dared to breathe. Dangerous foes of the wizarding world? Was he talking about the Church?

After a while Severus drew a shuddering breath. He looked at her, but he had trouble focusing his eyes. ‘Hermione?’

‘Yes, I’m here. Shall I get Poppy now?’

‘No. Not yet.’ Another shudder. ‘Are you real? Sometimes when I wake, I am certain that you cannot possibly be. And sometimes when I sleep, I am not real anymore, either. Just a puppet,’ he muttered. ‘A puppet without strings. For anyone to play with. Don’t even need to bother with a damn Imperius.’

A shiver rushed over his thin body. He turned onto his side. His face was flushed, his skin burning.

‘Am I real? Is this really my body?’ His voice faded, the syllables slurring. ‘But it must be. It hurts.’

She put her arms around him and held him close for a long moment. ‘Of course you’re real. And this is your body. No one will take it from you. No one will hurt you. Severus, you’re ill. I need to Floo and get Poppy. I’ll be back in just a minute. Will you be all right?’

As Hermione stepped into the green fire she heard Severus’ voice breaking as he repeated her last words, ‘all right’.

oooOooo

‘And how are you today?’ Poppy Pomfrey asked and held out a small phial of Pepper-Up to Hermione.

‘Somehow I doubt that you’ll accept “splendid” as an answer,’ Hermione replied and upended the phial, swallowing quickly.

‘Don’t you try that tack with me, young lady,’ the Hogwarts Matron chided. ‘Leave that to him.’ She nodded in the direction of Severus’ bedroom.

‘Will he be…’ She choked on the words ‘all right’.

But Poppy patted her hand. ‘He will be all right. The magic of this thrice-damned tattoo interfered with the healing spells we placed on him after you brought him back. That was simply too much for his “magical metabolism”. And I dare say he didn’t rest as much as he ought to have.’

Hermione flushed and nodded.

‘Hush, child!’ Poppy smiled at her knowingly. ‘That’s not what I meant. I was talking about working long hours and worrying about his students beyond what anyone could reasonably expect of him.

‘However, you must be aware that it will take time for him to heal—and not just his physical injuries.’

Hermione nodded. ‘He—he kept going on about if he was real, if his body was real.’

She hated feeling so helpless.

Poppy sighed. ‘That makes sense. For all that it was a blessing for him to withdraw from what they did to him in Azkaban, perceived loss of control causes its own problems.

‘Outside forces have taken control of his life and his body too often and too thoroughly during the last twenty years for him to suffer that easily.’

‘I certainly don’t blame him for becoming such a control freak,’ Hermione said morosely. ‘I just wish I could help him.’

‘Oh, Hermione, but you are helping him!’ Poppy folded her arms around her and drew Hermione against her stout figure and ample bosom. ‘I don’t think you’re aware of just how much you are already doing for him. In all the years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen Severus so happy before.’