Chapters 31-40

Cruciatus

Muriel Mugwort had assumed that Hermione Granger’s request for an appointment was about her master. Either to talk about his health, or…about other things. But when she saw how stiffly the girl moved, the Healer realised that Hermione’s reason for the appointment was all her own.

‘Good afternoon, Miss Granger,’ she greeted the young woman, holding out her hand.

‘Thank you for making time to see me,’ Hermione replied.

‘That’s my job, dear.’

Unobtrusively, the Healer catalogued several clues about her patient’s condition.Very pale. Too thin. Dark circles under the eyes and the eyes themselves dull with lack of sleep. Stiff, careful movements, as if in considerable pain. No strength to the handshake. Skin cold, clammy. Hand trembling.The symptoms were quite clear. Nevertheless Mugwort was thorough in her examination, both with the mundane and the magical procedures.

Finally Muriel asked Hermione into her office, where the healer plucked a small blue phial from a shelf and counted twenty drops into a tablespoon.

‘Swallow quickly. It burns, but it will help.’

Hermione did as she was told, although her grimace showed just how awful the potion tasted.

‘And now a simple herbal tea.’ Mugwort went to another shelf. The small pot was labelled for its ingredients, a mixture of meadowsweet, nettle, rosemary and willow bark.

For herself she settled on a strong, plain Assam. She needed it. She’d seen too many cases like Miss Granger’s in recent years.

Quiet minutes ticked by on the clock-faces of an elaborate time-piece on the mantelshelf. Ten dials sporting different sizes and hands were a testament to the many duties of a Master Healer in the Spell Damage Ward.

‘You should have come sooner,’ Muriel remarked.

Hermione shrugged. Much easier, the healer noted. The potion had worked its magic. For now, the pain was gone.

‘Would that have changed anything?’ A hint of bitterness in her voice. Mugwort narrowed her eyes at the girl. That was to be expected—the long-term effects of the Cruciatus curse were never only physical.

‘No,’ Mugwort admitted. ‘But there are potions—like the one I just gave you—that alleviate the pain. Salves that help with the stiffness. Other potions to help you sleep. As I am certain you are aware of.’

‘I am. But all of those potions are very strong and highly addictive. They also interfere with my magic. And they mess with my mind.’

‘If you prefer the pain, why are you here now?’ Muriel raised an eyebrow at the girl.

Hermione sighed. ‘I hoped that it had passed. I was fine in summer, and it’s been more than a year now. I hoped it would be over.

‘But it’s not,’ she concluded bleakly. ‘Is there any kind of cure? Something I missed when I did my research?’

Now it was the healer’s turn to sigh. ‘I am very sorry,’ she said gently. ‘But no, there is no cure for the after-effects of the Cruciatus. The long-term consequences vary, of course. They depend on the strength of the wizard or witch who cast the curse, as well as on the magical powers of the victim, the length of time and the number of times the victim is subjected to the curse. Women usually withstand the curse better than men, but Muggle-borns have less resistance to magical attacks. Other factors involved are how quickly treatment is provided afterwards and how soon the victim uses magic again.’

Mugwort studied Hermione’s face. It was never easy to talk about the details of torture, but she needed to know the facts to provide the best treatment she could.

‘Who did this to you?’ Muriel asked, keeping her voice quiet and even.

The young woman balled her hands into fists so hard that the knuckles stood out whitely and in sharp relief. Her veins shimmered blue through skin that was so pale it was almost translucent.

‘Bellatrix Lestrange.’

Hermione’s gaze strayed to one of the clock faces. The inscription below it said ‘Longbottom’. The hands were titled ‘Alice’ and ‘Frank’. Frank’s hand pointed to ‘asleep’. Alice was ‘counting bubble gums’.

‘It wasn’t all that long, I think,’ Hermione went on. ‘It seemed an eternity to me, but from what Harry tells me it can’t have been much more than an hour.’ She put down the empty mug and rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. ‘I’m weak. I started talking almost at once. And if…someone else hadn’t corroborated my lies, she’d have had me tell the truth within moments. If I’d still been able to speak that is, which I really wasn’t.

’They took me to Bill Weasley’s house right afterwards. His wife took care of me. But there was no time to summon a healer, or to wait with…what we had to do.

‘I…recovered quickly, or so I thought at the time. I was back on my feet the next day, after all. But of course it was summer at the time.’

‘Cold and damp weather are common triggers for the after-effects of the Cruciatus,’ Mugwort observed.

Hermione grinned wryly. ‘So I noticed.’

‘Any other symptoms you haven’t told me about yet?’

The young woman sighed and nodded. ‘Not very often, luckily, but…I do get…cramps of a sort sometimes. Convulsions. As if…’

‘As if you were being tortured all over again?’

Hermione hid her face in her hands. ‘Yes.’ Even muffled the strain in her voice was clearly audible. ‘I told you I’m weak.’

‘No, you are not,’ Mugwort said briskly. ’You are merely having a harder time with the after-effects of a horrible curse than other witches might have. There’s nothing weak about that. Some of us get horrible migraines, others don’t. Some women suffer monthly cramps, others don’t.

‘You have to talk about this with your master. There are potions you will need that have to be brewed freshly and which require highly advanced skills along with steadier hands than you have right now.’