Lessons In Love

Chapter 42: Numb

"Thank you Figgy," Hermione hoarsely whispered, taking the mug of cocoa from the little elf. She had taken ill and had somehow attained a fever in the last week. She felt incapacitated and had forced herself to try to study rather than her real want which was to sleep all day. Figgy had brought her a stack of books that had come from Professor Snape and she was reading through the work of Paracelsus, the man who was credited for the discovery of Parseltongue and a secret alchemist and potions master. Hermione was shocked at all the scribbles and notes in the text and corrections made on the formulas and spells. Snape was truly a genius. His understanding and wider knowledge of the field was most compelling although with all of his corrections, it took Hermione much longer to try to finish at least one page without squinting her eyes, trying to read different notes and observations.

Hermione glanced out the window from the large armchair she was in to see lightning flash with a boom of thunderous recourse while the snow and sleet hurried down in a blizzard like storm. The fireplace cracked with the large flames that Figgy had just unsettled by adding more wood to the hearth in the living room. The muggle electricity had gone out but Hermione didn't mind. It reminded her of stormy days at Hogwarts where all they had was the fire to warm themselves by. Hermione was wrapped in the cloak that Figgy had secretly hid from her in her case until she found it a few weeks back. She coughed roughly before rubbing the aching bridge of her nose from sniffling too much. She should have packed some draughts and remedies before she left to help her with her sickness, she knew better. Hermione sighed and closed her eyes, leaning back and breathing through her mouth heavily from her stuffy nose.

Curse Severus Snape for making feel even worse! Hermione cringed and sniffed from her raw sinuses, thinking of the man whose cloak was wrapped tightly around her as a blanket. She loved him but she hated him. Hermione could not go on hoping that he would come back to her or even the other way around. Even if something was going on, how could she forgive him after everything that they went through to then only be used a pawn in his own controlling scheme to run her life! The man was controlling everything even if he was so far away. He was commanding her thoughts and actions and melding them into whatever his grand plan was that he so wonderfully assumed she would not know of. Albeit, she did not know what he was concocting without her but she knew it was something. She knew she was being left out from it and she could not handle it. Hermione shivered from the chills that ran down her back as more lightning splayed through the window making her jump.

She could hear Figgy humming wildly to himself from the kitchen, using magic to help him wash the clinking dishes in the dark with a candle. The determined little house elf refused to rest… ever. She wondered if he was busy in a small house, what was he doing at Hogwarts? How many chores did he have to do at the castle? She wiped her nose with a handkerchief and looked down at the sprawling ink over the pages of the old book. Snape's handwriting… Hermione traced it with her finger, following each dip and curl of the letters written freely across the printed words.

I was under your spell… she thought to herself, thinking of the man in black. You tore my heart apart, what was I thinking, trying to believe that you had changed? Taking a deep inhale of breath, Hermione snapped the book shut, not wanting to see his writing on the pages and set it down on the floor. She took her wand out and played around with a few charms she had been practicing. A glowing blue butterfly flew about her, leaving a path of sparks of light in its wake. She flicked her wand around, guiding the charm around the room but sighed and frowned. Hermione pointed to the fireplace to see it burst into the flames, destroying the magic she had produced. She shook her head and sighed, wishing that Snape could be just as miserable as she was at that very moment. Not sick with fever, but sick from the heart. She hoped he was writhing in pain from the hurt he caused her. He had betrayed her and taken her feelings and thrown them out the window and he should be paying for it.