The funeral portrait by the French Press, Chapter 6.
The flat has been silent for days now, empty, colourless,
cold, ever since. Severus, the real Severus, had
revealed himself to her. The fact that she is alone now
speaks to the truth of his confession.
She didn't know how much she would miss having someone else
around. There is a persistent ache in
her stomach and an empty feeling deep within her chest that has
been there for days. She isn't even sure what days
mean any more. She hasn't been to work since
she discovered none of it was real anyway.
Most of her time is spent on the sofa, staring at the flames in
the fireplace that isn't really there, or with her eyes closed,
unable to sleep in the bedroom of the tiny flat her mind had
trapped her in. Time seems to crawl by.
She isn't sure when Severus is going to return.
She hoped he would have come by by now, but it feels like she
has been waiting for weeks. She has no concept of time.
It is likely only been a few minutes outside in the real
world. Hermione closes her eyes and
sighs heavily. If she wills it hard enough,
will he appear? When she opens her eyes, she
almost falls out of her seat in surprise at the sight of Severus
sitting at the other end of the sofa, his usual solemn
expression in place. Scrambling, she sits up properly
with her hands clasped atop her lap.
You surprised me. She says with a nervous laugh.
He smiles at her briefly. She already knew she missed him,
but it strikes her again so suddenly she feels breathless.
How are you? His voice is the same as ever,
but carries a note of concern. She doesn't blame him.
The last time he was here she'd been an emotional mess.
If only she was able to better control her emotions.
I am fine. He frowns in disbelief.
You don't have to keep things from me, Hermione.
He murmurs. In fact, your honest responses
are far more helpful in this. She swallows and nods, realising
he is right. I haven't been great.
She answers. Ever since the last time you
were here, I have been alone. It feels very empty.
Severus nods, but she can't tell what he is thinking from his
carefully schooled expression. His shoulders are squared in a
very business like manner she is familiar with from their time
living in the safe house. It was the way he always held
himself when there was bad news. It fills her with an instant
rush of trepidation. She almost wishes that he didn't
tell her the truth and shatter the illusion.
At least in that version of her dream, she isn't alone, and
Severus loves her as much as she does him.
The Severus sitting across from her is not that man, and she
very much doubts he has those same feelings.
She glances down at her hands before piping up once more with
a question that has been on her mind.
How long has it been? He raises an eyebrow.
Since since you were here last. How long has it been for you,
ah? The line between his brows
creases further as he contemplates his response.
It has been two days in my time. I would ask how long it has been
for you, but I know from experience when one is alone,
days can feel like weeks, months even.
She nods. It feels like a long time.
I couldn't even keep track of it.
I take it my counterpart has not returned?
She shakes her head. Nothing more needs to be said on
the matter, so she keeps her silence, desperate for him to
move on to a more comfortable topic.
She doesn't need any further reminders of what she has lost.
He doesn't need to be made uncomfortable by the feelings
she is now desperately trying to hide from him.
You mentioned last time a theory you have about why I'm trapped
here. She says, breaking the awkward
silence. Would you care to expand on that
more? Severus nods.
I will, but I feel we may need to go back a little further than
you being struck by the curse. He answers.
I mean to speak with you about the end of the war.
Oh, the war. She practically feels the panic
rising up within her. It must show on her face for
seconds later, Severus closes the gap between them on the sofa
and grasps her shoulders to hold her steady as her breathing
becomes shallow. Look at me.
He tells her, and she does as he instructs, conditioned after
years of doing so without question.
She is on the verge of a panic attack, but when his dark eyes
lock onto hers, she becomes lost in the intensity of his gaze and
ends up mimicking his breaths. When she is calm, he releases
her and she looks up from him with a grateful smile.
He doesn't move back to the other end of the sofa, but he
does put a small amount of distance between their bodies.
I'm sorry. She mutters, breaking their
gaze. No need to apologise.
He says quietly. She nods, but it still feels
ridiculous. She is an adult witch after all,
She should be able to handle talking about this by now
without having a meltdown, shouldn't she?
How could you, she thinks. You've spent all this time
avoiding reality in a dream, not dealing with any of it, while
Severus has been out there trying to find a way to bring
you back to it. That thought in particular sends
a stab of guilt right into her gut.
So, the war? She prompts.
What are your last memories of the final conflict?
He asks patiently. She inhales deeply, holding it
at the top for a moment before exhaling slowly to steel
herself. The last memory I have from the
battle, we're seeing you locked in battle with both of the
strangers, the Rodolfus and Robaston.
I was trying to move towards you to help and then nothing.
That's where the memories become fuzzy.
And then I woke up in Saint Mungo's before ending up here.
All the memories are very vague before living here.
Like it wasn't until I arrived in this flat that things finally
felt real. He nods thoughtfully, the long
fingers on one hand stroking his chin.
I did not know you were trying to reach me, nor did I see who
it was that struck you down, but spotty memories would be in line
with either the curse or your mind putting you in here.
She breathes out a sigh. It makes sense, of course, I
couldn't tell you which. Hermione admits.
I don't expect you would, but I am determined to find out.
He tells her, face as serious as she has ever seen it.
What do you remember from before the battle?
Can you talk through the days leading up to it?
She nods. That is safer territory, sort
of. We hadn't left the safe house in
a while, both of us were going stir crazy waiting to hear news
from Harry or Madai about when we could make a move.
You had barely spoken to me for a few days and I was concerned I
had annoyed or upset you. Hermione stops short when a
puzzled look crosses his face before shifting to 1 of
realisation. You didn't do anything wrong.
He says quietly. Severus eyes stared down at his
hands, drawing her attention to them.
She wants to reach out and run her fingers over every vein that
stands out, trace his knuckles, memorize the lines of his palms.
The urge to touch him is so overwhelming, but she doesn't
what he must think of her already.
Her cheeks flame at the memory of the day she accosted him on
the sofa. There is no doubt in her mind
that it has been the real Severus on that occasion.
She wants to believe that he had gone along with it, that he
could have denied her so he must have felt something too.
But Severus Snape had many years of practice playing a part, she
reminds herself. He is a skilled Aquaman's and
Legitimens after all, with plenty of experience performing
unsavoury tasks. Severus.
She asks, finally looking up at him.
Can I ask you something? Her anxiety has reached a
critical point, and if she doesn't ease some of it, an
implosion is almost certain. Ask.
I know we were forced to live in that safe house together, and
that it wasn't an ideal situation for either of us.
She begins, her voice wavering a little as she speaks.
But it wasn't all bad, was it? He shakes his head.
It wasn't all bad, No, I understand if you still hate me.
I don't hate you, Hermione. Severus interrupts.
I have never hated you when you were my student.
Well, you were my student when we were in the safe house.
You weren't my student, you were a capable witch and I did not
hate you. Sometimes it feels like you
blamed me for us being stuck there together, she admits
quietly. I took my frustration over our
situation and the stresses of the war on you, he corrects.
I never blamed you for a second. I blamed the Dark Lord, I blamed
Dumbledore for leaving us all with a bloody book and an
untrained young wizard as the road map to surviving and
bringing the war to an end. I regret ever leading you to
believe that you were at fault for my terrible moods.
She feels emotion well up inside and chokes back a SOB.
At least he didn't hate her. That has to be enough for her.
I don't know if I will be able to help you work out what role
the curse or my mind is playing in keeping me here.
She says. He's changing the subject.
He lets out a breath. I am aware.
He replies before running a hand through his long dark hair as he
thinks. I think we may need to delve
into your memories to try and work out exactly what happened
and potentially what spell was used against you if you are
amenable to such exploration. Though she is hesitant, Hermione
nods. She wants to leave this place,
all right. She agrees.
Not today. He adds.
I am not prepared, and it will possibly be very taxing on us
both when I return next. That will be the most ideal.
Until then, I ask that you allow yourself to rest in preparation.
Oh, try. She says, but she really isn't
sure what that means to her anymore.
A beat later, a frown deepens the line between his brows.
My time here is up. He explains and she feels an
instant sickness in her stomach. Alone.
Her mind supplies. She is terrified of being left
alone again, but she knows she mustn't cling.
He has important work to do in the real world, and she cannot
be more selfish than she already has been.
Thank you, Severus. Hermione tells him, trying to
convey how grateful she truly is.
Take care of yourself too, please.
I know how focused you can become.
He looks surprised, but nods. I'll return soon.
She blinks, and in that time he has disappeared, leaving her
alone once more. Her sigh echoes in the flat, a
hollow, empty sound. She drags herself to the bedroom
before collapsing with her face in a pillow.
Closing her eyes, she allows the mental exhaustion to drag her
under. The sharp, bitter scent of
antiseptic with the undertones of artificial fragrance
contained in soaps and cleaners fills his nose as she draws in a
breath. When he opens his eyes, the
bright light blinds him for a moment before his eyes are just
and he sees first Hermione in bed before him and then Padma
When he turns his head slightly. She doesn't look as concerned as
she has on the other occasions. Apparently their prior
successful entries has improved her outlook somewhat.
While he doesn't feel happy after his talk with Hermione,
the grim discontent with which he has emerged following prior
intrusions is not present. More concern and curiosity.
He isn't familiar with the feeling caught behind his ribs,
making his chest feel uncomfortably tight.
He recalls feeling it once before in his life, during the
time he was friends with Lily Potter.
What news? Padma asks when she finally
loses patience, waiting for him to speak.
We need to delve deeper into her memories.
He answers, standing up and loosening the tether from both
of their wrists and disposing of it.
Her sense of time is practically non existent and since I
revealed the dream to her, she is beginning to lose her grasp
on reality or what passes of reality where she is.
Shit. Padma curses.
Savareus nods. It is not ideal, but if we can
at least pinpoint who cast the curse and what the spell they
used is, I can try to reverse engineer it.
Padma scribbles down a few notes on the chart, hastily
documenting everything that has been done and said has been
important for their continuing ability to work on this case.
When she is finished, she draws her wand and replicates the new
notes into a second file the two of them have taken to keep.
Severus tidies all of his vials and the trolley is tucked back
away in the corner once more before they depart the room.
Padma shadows him as he leaves, this time shucking her healers
robes as they walk through the front door and walk up to the
corner of the street. He looks at her in confusion as
he pulls out his packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and
is quietly astonished when she holds out a hand.
He taps the box twice and passes one of the smokes to her,
lighting both of them before leaning against the brick wall
of the building on the corner out of the way.
After she exhales shakily, she finally pipes up with this is
getting complicated. He doesn't disagree.
We always knew it would be. My supervisor is riding me.
She admits. He is becoming frustrated with
how slow the progress is, now that you've discovered a way to
access Hermione's consciousness. Severus frowns, his nostrils
flaring in annoyance. Is he aware that without my
abilities, no progress would have been made at all?
He hasn't exactly been clamouring to assist.
I know. Pad Mercedes bitterly.
Unfortunately, hospitals are just as subject to frustrating
workplace bureaucracy as any other place.
When do you think you'll be able to delve into Hermione's
memories? Soon, Later this week, he
answers. Maybe Friday.
Friday is not so far away, he acknowledges.
He isn't sure he is ready to go rifling around Hermione's mind,
especially while she is in such a fragile state, but he must.
Setting aside his own discomfort and distress is imperative.
They smoke in silence. Padma snuffs hers first and
turns back to look down the street at her place of work.
I'd better head back, She tells him.
See you tomorrow. Severus nods and snuffs out his
own and pushes away from the wall.
They walk in opposite directions, she back to work and
he across the road to the park so he can operate home.
When he appears in the entryway of his house, it is dark.
He flips the light switch and walks into his kitchen.
His house has become nearly somewhere to close his eyes and
sleep for the scant few hours he actually manages to get each
night, and there isn't really anything for him to eat.
He knows he's been neglecting himself in favour of worrying
about Hermione, and she asked him no, pleaded with him to take
better care of himself. He opens the drawer containing
the take out menus and blindly selects 1, using the phone he
never bothered to get rid of when he bought the house to
order. He isn't certain why he's kept
it. If he's honest with himself,
outside of working towards healing Hermione, he hasn't
really been able to make a lot of decisions for himself that go
beyond blindly choosing something of a take out menu for
dinner. As he hangs up the phone, Sevres
decides to go on a walk to collect his food.
He needs to breathe in something that isn't hospital air or
smoke. It's cold that night, and he can
see his breath in front of him as he briskly strides along the
sidewalk by the time he arrives home with his bounty.
His stomach is growling angrily as he eats.
Alone in his kitchen, he pours over the daily profit he'd left
there that morning. His incredibly low expectations
were barely met as he tosses it aside.
His food, a pungent chicken korma, lacks flavour as he picks
at it. He isn't even sure if it's due
to his sense of taste being dulled by the smoking habit or
his overall low mood. He disposes of the empty
container and moves upstairs to shower.
The food sits like a block of cement in his stomach as he
strips out of his clothes, vanishes them to the hamper, and
steps into the hot spray of the shower.
He stands there, water beating down on him, until the tension
finally eases in his back and shoulders.
A groan from the pipes brings his attention back to the task
at hand and he grabs the shampoo to start furiously scrubbing at
his hair, followed by the rest of him.
When his skin is a little tender from the heat of the water and
the roughness he applies while cleaning himself, he switches
the water off and dries himself with a spell.
He spares just enough thought to pull on some pyjama bottoms
before collapsing into his bed, feeling boneless and exhausted.
All he can think about is Hermione and how she had looked,
how small, tired and afraid she appeared.
He knows he will do anything it takes to get her out of there,
his resolve only strengthening with each intrusion into her
head. And like every other night of
late, Severus feels himself succumbed to sleep with ease,
despite all of the troubled thoughts plaguing him.