The Funeral Portrait by the French Press, Chapter 10 The
chill in the air that day is unpleasant and pervasive.
Despite this, Severus keeps the collar of his coat high, a thick
scarf wrapped around his neck for additional protection.
It was going to be a very cold winter that year.
He enters St. Mungo's as he always does,
heading straight up to Hermione's floor.
His notes from Dolokhov's journal are tucked safely in the
inner pocket of his coat, and although it isn't the same as
reading the wizard's thoughts, he still has an acrid taste in
his mouth even thinking about him.
Up on her floor, he doesn't see Padma and makes a bee line
towards the room, coming to a dead stop in the doorway.
There are two chairs beside Hermione's bed.
He frowns, forcing himself to walk through the door and over
to the bed, pondering what he is seeing.
At first, he assumes that the Weasleys might have come by to
visit, but he quickly comes to another conclusion.
Padma must have brought another chair to sit in when she read to
Hermione the previous day. Though he isn't 100% certain if
this is the case, he wonders for a moment why, and then it hits
him. She was trying to be considerate
of him. This information feels strange,
sticking in his throat like a spoonful of peanut butter.
Unsure of what to do with the emotions he is experiencing, he
walks over to the window and stares outside.
Beyond the grimy glass, the sun is shining brightly as he stares
outside down the back of the alley and the medical waste
skips. He notes that they now have
heavy chains and padlocks on them.
His eyebrow lifts in surprise. Apparently the issue he'd
brought up with custodial services had been taken
seriously. Hello, Severus.
He turns just enough to glance over his shoulder.
Padma. He greets, feeling awkward.
He is not good at being or having friends.
Padma smiles at him and enters the room.
How did it go yesterday? She asks.
He ignores her question and jerks his head at the extra
chair. What's that?
She frowns in confusion. A chair?
Severus rolls his eyes and huffs out an impatient breath.
You are being contrary on purpose.
Why did you bring in the second chair?
I didn't think you'd want me to sit in your chair.
She admits sheepishly. Ah, just as he suspected.
It is not my chair, he says, pulling off his coat and scarf.
Since entering the room, he has warmed somewhat, and he sets the
items down over the end of the bed rail.
You needn't have brought in another chair.
I don't own the furniture here. She raises an eyebrow, as if I'm
convinced. Whatever you say, she says, a
lilt to her voice that causes him to shoot her a quelling
look. Now, would you like to tell me
what happened at the Ministry yesterday, or are you intending
to leave me in suspense? I got into the archives and was
given the box of Dolokhov's effects, he finally tells her.
The minister was very accommodating, and I found the
journal with his notes on the spell he used.
Padma's shoulders sag in relief. Well, that's good, isn't it?
He nods. It is.
She hooks the chart in her arms against her.
Why do I censor but there is no but?
He replies. However, there is still so much
unknown about the spell, and while I spent last night taking
copious notes and referencing many texts on the language, the
history, and the origins of the words used in the spell, amongst
other things, I feel something is missing.
Shit. She curses under her breath.
He nods in agreement. That about sums it up.
What will you tell Hermione? I plan to speak with her about
it today. He answers.
Hermione's mind, despite being affected by the curse, is still
sharp. The previous night, as he
researched, he went over his notes again and again,
memorizing it all so he could discuss it with her and see if
she had any insights. All right.
Padma admits. Shall we get started?
He shakes his head. He needs it today.
Their routine reading to Hermione is just as much for him
as it has been for her. Not right away.
I will read for a while first, and this afternoon we will
perform the tethering. I'll just leave you to it.
Padma tells him, moving towards the doorway.
I'll check in with my other patients, come find me when you
are ready. He nods in agreement and soon
the door is closed behind her and he settles into his chair
before cracking open the Count of Monte Cristo.
After spending some time reading, he takes a break,
walking up the street for a smoke break.
Upon his return, he wanders up to the tea room and makes
himself a strong cook, sipping it as he stares bleakly out the
window. When he returns to the Janus
Thickey Ward, he immediately seeks out Padma and finds her
speaking with her supervisor, choosing to remain out of
earshot. Severus catches her eye and
gestures towards Hermione's room, receiving a short nod from
her before she turns her attention back to her
supervisor. In Hermione's room, he summons
the trolley over and begins setting up all of the
accoutrements for the tethering. Just as he is rolling his sleeve
out of the way, Padma slips into the room quietly and shuts the
door firmly behind her, and he watches as she forces her
expression to shift to a more neutral one.
Apparently he is not alone in compulsive compartmentalising.
You don't need to pretend to look happy on my account.
He tells her. Her lips pinch and she sighs,
the facade dropping away. My supervisor was just asking
again why it is taking us so long to cure Hermione.
She confides, the venom creeping into her tone at the mention of
the healer she'd been talking to out in the hall.
Severus raises a brow. He is aware that what we are
performing is incredibly taxing and complex magic, is he not?
She joins him beside the bed and lifts Hermione's chart.
It doesn't matter. She mutters, clearly still
irate. Honestly, he's just upset that
the head healer gave me the lead on this case and now that there
is some momentum with us finding a way to bring her back, he is
jealous that he isn't involved. He snores.
Of course, that's what this is about.
Hospital politics. Padma adds with an eye roll.
Let's start, I don't want to think about that insufferable
man anymore. Severus has no desire to argue,
so he takes his seat and begins the process of wrapping the
drenched Unicorn hairs around his wrist and repeats the
process on Hermione's. Before he casts the spell to
dive in, he pauses to look back over to Padma.
Don't waste any more of your precious time on that perfume.
He tells her. We have much more important work
to be getting on with. She smiles at him and nods in
agreement. See you on the other side.
After a deep inhale, he lifts his wand and murmurs
legiliments. There's a shift in the air, so
slight it might have been imperceptible were she not
acutely aware of any changes around her now.
She has been on edge for what feels like days since Severus
were last there, viewing her memories with her.
The entire time she's been anxiously wondering if he will
ever return after what he saw, if he was scared off by her
feelings. When she feels the slight
vibration of his arrival, she is immediately relieved, but there
is still a gnawing in the pit of her stomach she can't ignore.
She enters her kitchen to find him filling the kettle so he can
place it on the hob to boil. Standing in the doorway, she
observes him silently until he turns around to face her,
leaning his hip against the nearby countertop and crossing
his arms. His expression is unreadable.
Cersei, this is hellishly awkward.
Hello. She greets lamely.
Hermione. He replies with an incline of
his head. How are you?
She knows he despises small talk, but she's struggling to
come up with anything better in the moment.
Severus sighs and pushes off the counter, reaching up to the high
cupboard to pull down to mugs for the tea he is brewing.
I've been worse. She has no idea why she leaves
the mugs up in that high cupboard.
Perhaps it is because that's where they'd always resided when
they were in the safe house together.
It doesn't matter. This isn't the safe house after
all. Why then, does her mind insist
on keeping her in this place? Everything reminds her of him.
It's like a subtle form of torture for all that has been
comfortable to her. Her train of thought is
disrupted when the kettle whistles.
She watches as Severus pours the hot water into the pot, the tea
leaves unfurling within as the hot water hits them.
He is so methodical, even here where he knows none of it is
real. As she observes him pouring the
tea into the prepared mugs, her eye catches on something in his
palm. She strides across the room in
seconds and snatches up his hand the moment he sets down the pot.
Hermione, what on earth are you? Several splitters trying to draw
away. She doesn't release him, instead
just stares at the circular scar that she doesn't remember him
having. What's this?
His hand and arm become tense within her grasp.
A burn. He says gruffly.
I know that. Hermione huffs, resisting the
urge to roll her eyes. Where did you get it?
It looks new. Severus expression becomes
shuttered as he carefully extracts his hand and returns to
the task of making their tea. Without another word, he pushes
a mug into her hands and stands on the opposite side of the
kitchen. The silence is so palpable it's
almost suffocating. I've been to the Ministry, He
says, finally speaking up. Oh.
She feels lost, so she takes a sip from the mug.
It's perfect. Kingsley was very accommodating
and allowed me access to the archives and Dolokhov's
belongings confiscated before the war trials.
I found the details from his journal and took extensive
notes. He explains, beginning to Babble
a little. It is the only way she can tell
he's more nervous than he's letting on.
She gestures towards the sitting room and asks.
And what have you discovered? After they settle on either end
of the sofa, Severus replies. The spell itself roughly
translates to lock away the mind and is of Irish origin.
From the little research I've done, the words combined with a
few precise wand movements, as well as the cast as intent, are
what makes the spell a curse. So his intention was to trap me
in here permanently. She says slowly, looking to him
for confirmation. So it seems, he replies.
Or until such time that your body disintegrates from disuse.
That is a disturbing thought, and not one she cares to linger
on. She slumps against the back of
the sofa and stares into the dark tea in her mug, watching
the curls of steam shimmer over the surface.
Do you think it's the spell that's keeping me in here?
She asks. Not entirely.
In Irish traditions, the labyrinth is often associated
with journeys of self healing. It is possible that the curse
was what trapped you here initially, but I theorize that
your mind is protecting you from something, though what that
might be, and I do not claim to understand.
She sits in silence as she absorbs the information,
protecting herself. She can only think of one thing
her mind would want to protect her from.
The last time Severus was here with her, that secret was blown
to hell. Chewing on her bottom lip,
Hermione spins the information around her head until she starts
to piece things together for herself.
If what you're saying is true, could we find a counter curse
for the one that put me in here in the 1st place?
She asks. Severus nods slowly.
It is possible, but that would depend entirely on whether your
mind, body, and magic are willing to let you go.
Also assuming you are no longer in need of protection.
Hermione purse is her lips. Bringing up the last visit would
be humiliating for her, but there is little else she can do
but offer honesty if she ever wants to escape this prison.
You are a Gryffindor, aren't you Granger?
She thinks to herself, trying to conjure whatever courage was
left within her. And if the thing my mind and
magic was protecting me from is no longer an issue.
His brows draw together as he replies.
Then I do not envision there being any problem with a counter
curse being effective. She nods firmly.
All right, she says. Let's do it.
Let's find a counter Curse. He leans forward slightly.
You seem certain. Swallowing the lump forming in
her throat, she takes a deep breath and exhales.
The last time you were here, you would have felt some things.
My emotions linked to the memories we viewed, Yes.
I think perhaps my mind was protecting that information in
those feelings while I was recovering from the trauma the
war inflicted. She says a little more quietly
now, this admission one of the most nerve wracking things she
has ever spoken out loud in her entire life.
But now that you are aware. She stops, unable to voice any
more as he sits there in silence, staring at her with his
dark, intense gaze even as anxiety urges her to look away
and causes her insides to contract and tremble.
She meets his gaze head on. In spite of how tense she is and
how charged this conversation has been, Hermione feels a small
amount of relief that the earlier awkwardness seems to
have dissipated, even if it has been replaced with a new kind of
apprehension between them. Hermione, I don't know what to
say. He begins.
You don't have to say anything. She says in a rush.
I don't have any expectations. I understand that knowing may be
awkward for you. Trust me, and I know a thing or
two about that right now. I don't want you to feel
obligated to me. I don't feel obligated, He
blurts out suddenly. What are you?
It's just not an obligation, Hermione.
He says more seriously this time.
I am not indifferent towards you.
Her stomach does a mighty flip and she freezes in place, jaw
slack as she stares at his entirely earnest expression.
But you? There was never any indication,
nor was there any from you. He points out, his pale cheeks
flushing, a rather charming cue. She never once thought she'd see
several snake blush in her life. A small bubble of nervous
laughter escapes her and she hurries to clarify as a look of
distress crosses her companion's face.
Oh no, I'm not laughing at you. She explains.
I just, it's rather amusing, don't you think?
Think of all the time and energy we both put into keeping secrets
from one another. A small smile pulls at one side
of his mouth. Indeed.
She falls silent as her heart flutters wildly in her chest.
Though he did not say it plainly, admitting to her that
he isn't indifferent to her is as good as an open confession of
his feelings. That thought makes her mouth go
dry, and she hurries to gulp down more of her tea as she
flounders under his black gaze. Just to clarify.
He begins carefully. Do I have your permission to
seek out a counter curse and attempt to release you from the
confines of your mind? She smiles as she recalls how
important consent is for him. There is a little curiosity
there of why it ranks so highly in importance, but that is a
question for another time. Please, Severus.
She says quietly. I am ready to leave here.
He clears his throat softly before saying.
I will do my best to make it so I know you will.
They fall silent again for a moment before he interrupts the
quiet to say a cigarette. It is a cigarette burn.
She blinks in confusion before it dawns on her and her eyes
widen. Her mind recalls A fleeting
conversation from their time in the safe house together when he
mentioned that he once used to smoke as a coping mechanism when
he was younger. A bad habit from a different
time. It appears the habit has
resurfaced again and she feels instantly guilty, assuming she
is the cause. Oh.
The quiet exclamation escapes her, his eyes cast down to the
still half full mug of tea he nurses in his grasp.
It is a shameful habit. Severus mutters.
Please, she implores. Please don't feel embarrassed or
ashamed to tell me these things. He looks up at her, and she
holds his gaze. Eventually, he nods, but there
is still a lingering doubt she can sense in his eyes.
She desires not to push any further, especially given the
heavy nature of their conversation so far this visit.
He stands and takes her mug adjoining to the kitchen, and
she hears him rinsing them before returning to the sitting
room, standing behind the sofa. Now I must go.
He informs her. I would like to begin work on
finding a counter curse as soon as possible.
She clambers to her feet gracelessly and rounds the sofa,
coming to stand before him. Not allowing herself to question
her actions, she cups his warm cheek in her hand and presses up
on her toes to reach him better. He seems to sense where this is
going and hunches over slightly to close the gap between their
height difference. Her lips touch his for the first
time in, well, she doesn't exactly know how long.
She doesn't move to intensify it, and neither does Severus.
It is a gentle, simple expression of gratitude and
affection. One of his hands presses against
her lower back, holding her against him, and a brief rush of
happiness courses through her, a respite from all the misery she
has felt until now. She feels cared for and safe in
his arms. Thank you, she says as she pulls
back, gazing into his eyes. For not giving up on me.
The corners of them crinkle slightly, and he nods at her.
I will do everything in my power to bring you back.
He vows, and she can tell he means it.
When he disappears this time, the empty room doesn't feel
quite as oppressive.