Chapter 7
He felt her weight shift before he realized she was asleep.
Looking down, he took in her appearance. Purple bruises lingered under her eyes, her lashes touched her gaunt cheeks, skin a pair tint of yellow. Involuntarily, he held her tighter, before making the decision to shift fully onto the bed with her, still sitting up, still holding her as she was when she let slumber take her.
The twins weren’t due to wake from their nap for and hour and a half or so, he could allow himself to linger. He would allow himself to linger. Maybe in her proximity, holding her this way, he could figure out what was wrong with her. They’d checked everything, in the days that followed the births. He was incredibly thorough, as were Molly and Poppy, they both insisted she would be fine when she woke, and she was. For seven days.
This infection seemed to be plaguing her body, and no diagnostic spell was narrowing anything down, which was simply unheard of. He had initially though it was sepsis, but that would have shown up on the initial diagnostic scans. They’ve ruled out virtually everything, and she wasn’t getting any better. He could understand, no matter how ridiculous it was, why she felt the way she did; why she was breaking the way she was.
Hermione Jean Granger did not fail.
She did not fail, she did not do anything half way, and she was the best at everything she did do. He knew that to be true, to a fault. Though they had all assured her none of this was her fault, that the children were well taken care of, that she was doing so well with them, that no one was mad at her, that all anyone needed was for her to rest and get better, she could not get out of her own head. He realized, at a very young age, she was obsessed with being perfect. Not in the way of vanity, but in the way of life.
The girl had a visceral need for knowledge, her brain works infinite miles a minute, she flinched at the thought of failure, and didn’t hesitate in the face of danger.
Seeing her now, so consumed by compulsion and fear with no outlet, nearly broke his heart.
A small hand clutching his muggle jumper brought him back to the present. Covering her hand with his own, he allowed his cheek to rest against the top of her bushy head.
This was not fair to her. After everything she had been through, the war, the prejudice, the hiding, him. She deserved peace. She deserved much more than the stones fate kept throwing in her way. He’d seen the yearning in her eyes every time the children were in his arms, Ginnerva’s, Harry’s, Molly’s. He saw the silent resentment and complete distress every-time she heard them wake and made move to get them, only to be reminded her body was presently bound to a bed.
It was cruel, a new mother unable to be alone with her children.
He would fix it.
He nodded in silent resolve, though it was not as if he had been doing nothing but standing by and watching the young mother wither away. It was tearing him apart. As was her constant questioning. He didn’t want to make arrangements, no decisions. He wanted to bask in this time, with them together as a family. But it should not have been this way. Squeezing her hand slightly, he looked down upon her again. The freckles dusting her delicate face were prominent in her discoloration. In another life, he would let her know how beautiful she was, how happy he was that she had been the one to mother his kin, how regretful he was for not finding her himself, of not seeking her out of only to truly apologize for everything that had transpired between them. In another life, maybe he wouldn’t have needed to.
But here, in reality, there was the truth. The circumstance of spies in war, the sacrifice for justice, she had truly given everything she had and then some.
The door opened quietly, a light footed Harry Potter sneaking through, eyes widening slightly before he schooled his features, slipping silently into the bedside chair. There was a heavy silence in the room, both men looking upon the sleeping girl. The silence, of course, did not last long.
“Prof- Severus,” Harry started, his voice thick with an emotion Severus could not quite place, “ Hermione.. She- I.. I haven’t asked. I’ve been respectful, and it’s honestly not been on my mind much lately given her condition.”
He knew where this was going, steeling himself with a harsh inhale, pinched his eyes closed as Harry continued.
“What on earth happened? How did this happen?”
The two words left him quietly, tightly, before he even had a moment to think.
“The Manor.”
Severus didn’t look to the boy as he physically felt him go rigid.
“What do you.. when we were there. You didn’t..”
“I will not discuss what is not mine to tell. If you aren’t privy, Mister Potter, she did not wish for you to know.”
“But she told us.. she told us it was.. the knife, the cursed knife and-“
The knife.
Bellatrix’s knife.
Of fucking course.
“Mister Potter,” He started in an urgent tone, pulling Hermione impossibly closer as he spoke, “You need to retrieve Bill Weasley Immediately. I believe I know now what is wrong with Miss Granger.”