The funeral portrait by the French Press, Chapter 9.
The air is almost spicy in its crispness as winter nears.
She hasn't ever been fond of the cold and is grateful that London
at least, is not as cold as the Scottish Highlands when she were
attending Hogwarts, grateful that her flat was only two
blocks walk from the hospital. Padma Dons her winter coat and
scarf, walking down the stairs of her flat and making haste so
that she gets to work on time. As she passes through the doors
of Saint Mungo's, the warming charms applied to the waiting
room envelope her. She sighs in relief and makes
her way to the locker room to Stow her coat and bag, switching
to her heelers robes and punching her timecard to start
her shift upstairs. She is handed a small stack of
clipboards for the patients on her rotation for the day, and
she scans over them. Hermione's, of course, is
included amongst them, and she makes her first stop for the
morning at her room, not remotely surprised to find
Severus already there, Buck open as he reads it to her.
She doesn't enter the room at first, simply standing at the
door and gazing through the small window, observing the
moment and willing to disrupt it.
She knows this time is important for Hermione and Severus, though
who benefits from it the most she isn't certain.
Eventually, she grasps the door handle and turns it, entering
the room quietly. He looks up from the book and
nods at her in greeting before he continues to read until he
reaches a natural stopping point, shutting the book as she
approaches. Good morning.
She tells him, smiling. Padma.
He replies in his usual dour manner.
How is our patient doing this morning?
She asks, trying to keep her tone light.
Things have been a little strained since the week prior.
She hadn't meant to force a confession from him with regards
to his feelings for the witch in the hospital bed beside them.
She longer suspected that the Potions Master was in love with
Hermione, but for some reason she had been compelled to ask.
That he admitted it to her was a real surprise.
Same as ever. He responds.
There is no emotion in his tone, but she is almost certain she
catches a flash of pain in his dark eyes.
Her chest tightens. The cruelty of this situation
weighs on her. She wants so desperately to
bring Hermione out of her coma sooner, but she has not the
skill to do it. The days, weeks, months continue
to crawl by. Even with the new information
Severus was able to extract from the other witch's memories.
They are caught up in what seems like endless Ministry red tape.
Trying to pursue the line of inquiry further, Padma adjusts
the stack of the clipboards she has clutched to her front so she
can place them at the foot of the bed and pulls Hermione's to
see what the Healer on duty noted during their shift.
No changes, physical or otherwise.
It's what she expects, but every now and then she just wishes
something, anything, would change so that she didn't always
feel so helpless. Over the course of Hermione's
confinement at Saint Mungo's, the two people in the room have
become important to her in a way she had not expected.
If only a year or two earlier someone had told her she would
be friendly with Severus Snape, she might have laughed in their
face. She can't really believe it
herself now. I have to go to the Ministry
this afternoon. Severus tells her, interrupting
her silent musing. Have they finally cleared it?
She asks, something like hope rising in her chest.
He nods. Kingsley owed himself to grant
permission for me to use the archives and to delve into old
closed case files at the Aura's office.
Padma exhales shakily and not of tension and winding in her
stomach. Do you need any help?
She asks. Severus shakes his head.
I will gather what I can and bring it back to work through at
home or here. I have no idea how dark the
contents will be and I'm unwilling to expose her If you
could. He stops mid sentence, appearing
uncomfortable. What do you need?
She stares at him, waiting patiently for him to speak up.
She knows how hard it is for him to be forthcoming, and making
himself so vulnerable before her is somewhat gratifying.
I normally read to Herbione in the afternoon.
He says quietly. I don't think I'll be back
today. Padma smiles at him and offers.
I'll sit with her and read for a little while if you like.
He looks torn, but after a few seconds he nods and says yes, if
you have the time. Even if she didn't, she knows
she will make time. I have time for that.
She says firmly. I'll stop by later in the day.
His shoulders lose some of their attention and she feels a
flutter of warmth settle over her.
He trusts her to sit with Hermione and read to her,
something she knows he hasn't entrusted anyone else before
now. She always viewed him as a hard
man, but over the months she has discovered that he is far more
fragile and damaged than the cold, hard wizard he projects to
the world. She knows he is a formidable
opponent when crossed, but there is a softness to him she has
been fortunate enough to glimpse.
She jots down her observations on the clipboard, slides it into
place in the slot at the end of the bed, and collects the other
charts for her round, pausing at the door before leaving.
Good luck today, she tells him. Thank you.
He replies before he turns back to Hermione, opening the book
once more. Quietly, Padma closes the door
and spares one last glance at the scene.
She feels a small pang of something that she can only
describe as jealousy. It isn't that she has any
feelings for Severus, but the devotion and care he gives to
the comatose, which is unlike anything she has ever
experienced herself. Maybe, maybe one day she might
find something similar herself, if she is lucky.
She sighs softly and turns away, walking down the hall so she can
see her other patients. A soft thud echoes through the
room as the book shuts. Severus sighs to himself,
setting it aside as he gazes at Hermione's comatose form.
He is tired, he admits to himself, glancing briefly at the
clock mounted on the wall. He sees the time and reluctantly
stands from his chair. He has extracted from Padma a
promise to fill in for him in reading to Hermione that
afternoon, which he did with surprisingly little reluctance.
The young healer has earned his trust over the many months spent
caring for Hermione. He would entrust no other to sit
here and read to her. He strokes the back of his hand
over the cool skin of the witch's exposed hand, his chest
tightening as he withdraws and moves away from the bed.
Clenching his jaw, he forces himself to leave the room
without a backwards glance. There is work to be done, and he
is the only one who's going to do it.
Had it been left to Potter and the youngest Weasley male,
Hermione might be in a coma until her body finally
disintegrates or, Merlin forbid, be removed from care and left to
die before he has even the chance to find a way to reverse
the curse. Once outside the hospital
perimeter, he pulls out a cigarette from the pack with
trembling hands, lighting the end.
He quickly puffs away at it to calm his nerves as he walks to
the park to operate to the Ministry.
He hasn't been to the Ministry since his trial, absolving him
of any war crimes or wrongdoing. He refused to attend the
ridiculous sham of a ceremony to award him the Order of Merlin.
The one caveat is that he accepts the stipend that comes
with it purely pragmatically. That, combined with his saved
income from his year's teaching keep him afloat while he invests
all of his time in Hermione's care.
He loathes that he accepts their guilt money for the years of
bullshit he was put through, but he hopes it will prove
worthwhile. Snuffing out the end of his
smoke, he apparates with a sharp crack that rings through the
thicket of trees and touches down in the Ministry's atrium.
It is with vain hope that he makes his way through the throng
of people, hoping no one will pay him any notice as he makes
his way towards the lifts. As he approaches, his shoulders
sag in disappointment when he spots the familiar red hair of
Arthur Weasley. Sometimes he curses his height
as he towers above the average person, even when he hunches to
be less conspicuous. The Weasley patron walks in his
direction with a friendly smile, not out of character for the
man, but they were never really friends.
Severus, good to see you. Arthur says as he joins him by
the lifts to wait. He does his best to remain
polite and nods. Martha, mere pleasure.
What brings you to the Ministry today?
I feel as though I haven't seen you in six months.
Severus offers, interrupting him.
That is, after all, how long it has been since he has spoken to
anyone outside of Padma, Mr. Jigger from the apothecary or
the staff at Saint Mungo's. Arthur looks somewhat sheepish.
Severus, I. He holds up a hand to interrupt
him. There is no need Arthur, I
assure you. He said swiftly, cutting off any
short of apology. He doesn't need one.
It's not as if he has gone out of his way to see the older
wizard either. I am here on business.
Kingsley has given me permission to seek out information in the
archives. The red haired wizard looks at
him curiously as the two of them enter the lift.
Archives, you say? Now Severus feels as if a small
stone has lodged itself in his throat.
He wonders what Arthur's response to him helping Hermione
might be, but remembers that the wizard has always been a
practical man, an empathetic man.
I am here seeking the personal effects of Antonin Dolokhov.
He answers finally as the lift begins to ascend.
It has come to light recently that he is the one who has put
Miss Granger in a coma. Arthur's eyebrows shoot up.
Hermione, you're working on Hermione's case?
Severus nods. I have been working closely with
he the Patil to find a solution to break the curse.
He wonders how Arthur can be surprised given his youngest son
was aware that he visited Hermione and a Frau creases in
his brow. It makes no sense that Ronald
would withhold this information from his family.
Ron never told us. Arthur says, giving voice to
Severus train of thought. Aye, Molly and I, we've been
remiss in paying a visit to her. Severus sees the pain in the
other wizard's eyes and decides to go easy on him.
You've had your own losses and children to worry about.
Arthur smiles at him and shakes his head.
We've always said Hermione was like a daughter to us.
He said, his voice filled with regret.
I am ashamed to say we haven't treated her like one since,
Well, you know. He wants to be mad at the
Weasleys, but he just can't summon the energy.
The wall was taxing on them all, and he feels for the man
carrying the burdens of his entire family on his shoulders,
as well as the many responsibilities he has at the
recovering Ministry. It is strange, he thinks to
himself, that it took a war and practically losing Hermione for
him to be able to dredge up some empathy for another person.
It's never too late. Severus says just as the door to
the lift opens. He steps out of the lift,
leaving Arthur standing in there, gazing at him in
surprise. They share a look both not and
then the doors close, separating them.
Making his way towards Kingsley's office, Severus is
pleased that there are fewer people milling about on this
floor. At the door to the minister's
office, he pauses, uncertain of whether it was necessary to stop
and see the man given his urgent task.
Kingsley had done him a favour though, and he felt obliged to
be polite. Is Minister's shagglebolt
available? He asks the receptionist as he
walks into the main office. Just let me check.
She says, standing and ducking her head through a slightly ajar
doorway. A moment later she returns and
nods at him. The Minister has a free moment
now, if you'd like to head in. Thank you.
He strides past her into Kingsley's office and
immediately the man stands to greet him, rounding his desk and
holding out a hand in welcome. After shaking hands, Severus
takes a seat across from him. It's good to see you.
Kingsley tells him. Severus feels flustered and used
to so many people being pleased to see him.
The past few long months spent at Hermione's side have made him
more reclusive. If possible, I wanted to stop by
and express my appreciation again on my way to the archives.
He explains. It is nothing, truly.
The minister says, waving him off.
How is Hermione? His lips thin as he shrugs his
shoulders. Her condition is stable and I've
been making contact with her via a link I was able to make using
a tethered potion in addition to my Legilimacy.
That is actually why I am here, and I suspected as much.
Kingsley says with a knowing smile.
You were aware I was working with Healer, but till to heal
her. Severus cannot mask his
surprise. He never once mentioned to the
man opposite him why he required access to the archives.
I am the minister, He replies. It pays to be kept abreast of
things going on in the world I am responsible for.
I have the ear of the head, Healer.
Severus hoofs out of breath. Of bloody course, I'm sure, he
draws, unwilling to give anything further away.
My here you'll spend quite a lot of time at Saint Mungo's,
Kingsley adds. There is no point denying it.
You heard correctly. If Mr. Potter or Weasley give
you any trouble, let me know, he continues.
I know you are a good man Severus, and that you have your
patients best interests in mind, but those boys are still young,
hot headed. Several scoffs.
That's a name for it. I am sorry to cut this short,
but I have meetings for the rest of the day and my next one is
only a few minutes away. The other wizard informs him.
He nods and stands up, leaning across the desk with his hand
proffered. Leaving the office, he heads to
the lift to go down a floor, and when he arrives at the
Department of Logical Law Enforcement, he flashes his pass
at the receptionist. He points him in the direction
of the evidence lock up. The wizard in charge there gazes
at him with suspicion but says nothing as he retreats to the
office behind him to fetch the personal effects Severus is
retrieving. 10 minutes later, he returns with a case file and a
box, placing them on the desk between them before pulling out
a sheet for Severus to sign, saying he is now in possession
and responsible for the items. With the box in the file
clutched close, he ignores his curious desire to open the box
right away and delve into it. Instead, he goes to the lift and
takes it down through the underground floors to the
archives first. There he is quick to seek out
the archivist in charge and is given access to find the files
pertaining to Dolokhov. He makes copies of everything,
leaving the Ministry a short time later.
With everything shrunken down and stored in his deep coat
pockets at home, Severus removes everything from his coat in the
office. He can't remember when the last
time he ate was, but it doesn't matter.
All of his focus is on the small box and large case files.
Lifting the lid, he discovers a series of bagged and tagged
items, removing them with care until he stumbles upon a small
tattered journal. Everything in the box has the
taint of dark magic on them, something sinister he can't
quite put his finger on. He was familiar enough with
Dolokhov and his Bloodless for killing muggles and muggleborns.
It still causes a chill to run up his spine as he Dons a pair
of gloves so he can finally crack open the journal and begin
the process of scouring it. It takes a couple of hours of
reading the insane ramblings of a madman before he finds the
spell he is looking for. Glazer, Shul and Agnew on his
mother's side, Dolharvis of Irish descent.
It makes sense that he would craft a spell in his family's
native tongue. After summoning it from his
bookshelf, Severus flips open a book he inherited from
Dumbledore on ancient Gaelic curses and spells.
His search yields nothing, and he sighs in frustration that the
solution is not a simple or obvious 1.
He breathes in deeply through his nose as he sinks into the
chair at his desk, closing his eyes for a moment, overwhelmed
by his task. It isn't long before he gives
up. Unable to concentrate on an
empty stomach, he goes to the kitchen and makes tea, setting a
pot on the stove with some leftover soup before he walks
out to the back door to lean against the wall and light up a
cigarette in his garden. He stares up at the sky,
exhaustion seeping into every bone as he sucks in lungfuls of
smoke, exhaling and allowing the dopamine rush to temporarily
soothe him. When he goes back inside, he is
calmer and ready to continue with his reading, carrying his
soup with him to the office so that he might begin work again.