Chapters 241-250

A Very Merry Christmas

Ron and Harry had always ridiculed Hermione for being chronically organised—for her colour-coded notes, revision schedules and endless to-do-lists. Both boys claimed her lists were driving them crazy.

Now those very lists were keeping Hermione sane. Or at least from going completely insane.

When the nuns had given her the laptop, making a list had been nearly the first thing she’d done—right after checking if there was a way to connect to the internet. No such luck. Even the standard games had been removed, leaving her with only MS Word.

What she couldn’t understand in the first place was why they had provided her with the laptop. The Bible made sense. She was in a monastery. And though her memories were hazy from shock and the influence of the drugs, she did recall the words of her jailer: ‘…not beyond salvation…penitence may lead to redemption…’ The Bible and the book of prayers would be tools for that purpose.

But why the laptop? Why? Was there anything they wanted from her yet? Did she know something important, maybe without being aware of it, and they were trying to trick her into revealing it?

However, if they wanted something beyond ‘saving’ her and beyond preventing her from passing on any evidence of their crimes, why did no one talk to her? Why did they simply leave her alone in this cell for months?

She couldn’t comprehend that rationale. So she made lists to help her understand and to formulate her strategies. She typed lists, memorised them and deleted them again.

A list for the worst case scenario: She knew that Severus and Harry were dead—she had killed them; Ron had Splinched, losing an arm—she rather doubted that he’d been able to Apparate to safety, so he was probably dead, along with Alina and Lois; Madame Dubois had been shot several times before she collapsed at Hermione’s feet—so she must be dead, too. Hermione couldn’t remember the names of the Aurors, only gunshots in the night. They were likely dead, as well.

Then she made a list of her attempts to escape and the reasons for her failure.

She had attempted to Apparate, but there were anti-Apparition wards.

She had tried talking to the nuns, pleading with them, screaming at them. But they remained silent. They smiled at her and embraced her. They held her when she cried. But they did not help her. Wrecking the furniture had merely caused the nuns to remove the broken remains, leaving Hermione with nothing but the mattress on the floor.

Finally she had knocked down a nun to force her escape—and discovered that apparently the wards allowed only Muggles to leave her cell.

Upon trying to unravel the wards, she had learnt that every time she used magic in the cell, her power was sucked out of her and into the wards. That had inspired her to use up her magic until the wards might mistake her for a Muggle. Unfortunately it turned out that the wards were not designed to let Muggles pass at all. They were simply constructed to keep Hermione Jean Snape imprisoned.

Then there was the list with her attempts to kill herself.

It was short. Suicide didn’t come easy to her. Trying to beat in her head had been more a reaction to grief and guilt than an honest attempt to kill herself. When she had poured all of her magic into the wards, allowing them to suck her dry, she had wanted to die. But she fainted before she succeeded. With no furniture, she couldn’t reach the window and its iron bars, so she could not hang herself anymore. She also couldn’t drown herself. The loo was just a small hole in the floor, set in white porcelain. The sink was so shallow that the water barely covered her flattened hands before it overflowed and drained away in the toilet.

Days, weeks, months passed.

Hermione read the Bible and spent long evenings contemplating a reasonably sharp piece of wood salvaged from the destroyed furniture. But somehow she couldn’t bring herself to slash the veins in her wrist.

She tried to summon a Patronus and failed.

It was Christmas.

oooOooo

On Christmas Eve, Severus sat alone in his library. At Minerva’s insistence, he had attended dinner in the Great Hall. At Harry’s insistence, he would go to the Burrow for Boxing Day.

Everyone would be there. Family and friends. Neville Longbottom and his girlfriend Hannah Abbott with Draco’s infant son Scorpius. A one-armed and strangely adult Ron Weasley with his new wife, Lois Petrel-Weasley, three months pregnant with twins. Ginny Potter, by all accounts radiant with pregnancy as well.

Outside torchlight made the inky black surface of the lake sparkle and glitter festively. Severus thought of last Christmas. How strangely happy it seemed in retrospect, in spite of all strains and fears. He remembered the concert they went to. Hermione had held his hand and smiled at him, her brown eyes lighting up almost golden. He recalled how they had kissed. How they had made love. How they had argued. The way he’d taken his moods out on Hermione. Strange that this should turn out to be the happiest time in his whole life.

Suddenly a perverse mood struck him.

He had not attempted to summon a Patronus ever since his attempt at producing one had failed in February and Minerva’s own Patronus had not been able to reach Hermione. But now he raised his left wand (birch with sphinx feather; rebirth and wisdom—how he wanted to laugh).

‘Expecto Patronum,’ he said softly and waved his wand.

For a moment nothing happened. The room lay dark and silent.

Then silver mist flowed towards him from the corners of the room and coalesced into an unfamiliar form.

A white swan spread her wings in front of him. She craned her elegant neck and regarded him calmly, her eyes dark and beautiful.