Azael's Chains

Agony

She did not want to get out of bed when she woke the next morning. The bed seemed to buoy her body aloft on its gently firm mattress, the sheets silken soft against her skin, the room dim and cool and silent in that twilight perfect for napping away the day. It wasn't as though Hermione had a reason to rise; there were no boys to wrangle, no wards to check, no classes to attend. She had only herself. And she wanted to immerse herself in that nothingness that was the space between dreams and waking.

Alas, others laid claim to her as well, she was reminded as a crack disturbed her peace.

"Missy Granger must get up."

She groaned and rolled onto her stomach, burying her head in the doughy give of the pillow. "No, thank you." A whoosh preceded the sudden brightness flooding the room and blanketing the back of her eyelids with red. "It's time for breakfast. Miss must get up," the elf insisted as the blankets retreated.

Despite the gnawing hollow in her gut, Hermione said, "I'm not hungry," and wrapped her arms around the pillow. Something poked at her exposed cheek and she opened one red-rimmed eye to see the violent grass of the elf's peering at her.

"The Master says Missy must come to breakfast, so Missy must get up." She shook one stern finger at the teen. "Tippy will take Missy herself if Missy doesn't go willingly."

At this Hermione sat up, sleep wiped from her expression. "You wouldn't dare."

"Tippy obeys Master. Tippy is a good elf. Missy Granger needs to be good too."

When the elf continued to stare her down, Hermione huffed and wammed the pillow against the bed. She took a breath, smoothed her hands overself, and stood. "And just how am I supposed to get ready? I haven't anything to wear."

Tippy snapped her long, brittle fingers and a length of slate grey was draped across the bed. "A robe for Missy," the elf declared, a hint of satisfaction letting Hermione know this had been expected.

The young woman took up the length of cloth and made her way to the adjoined room where she could wash away the grime of the morning with metallic water from a brass tap. It seemed it was time to don a mask once more. She'd worn many during her life, from aloof encyclopedia (whose emotions were tucked away beneath a padding of paper-thin knowledge) to the brave face of the Horcrux hunter at Harry's side (those too cold days after Ron had left and before his return, when she had to keep them going as Harry's hope chipped away like the splinters of his wand). This was new territory entirely, but she had read about compartmentalizing to survive trauma, had enacted it in little ways before, and now she would again.

It was like Occlumency; apparently it could even be considered in that realm. An occlumens compartmentalized out of necessity during training. It was one technique for keeping dangerous thoughts locked away, though a master legilimens would detect the hidden region. In that case it was better to know how to redirect or fabricate.

Snape was a master of both, I suppose. He had deceived everyone. Not even Dumbledore had known the true extent of his manipulations.

If Snape could manage that for a decade and a half Hermione could endure this until she found a way out.

As she brushed her teeth and combed her hair and washed the parts of her body that had sweated through the night and her panic attack, Hermione sieved out the safe parts and pushed back all that threatened her composure. She boxed away the memories of the battle to mere impressions, the sorrow of obliviating her parents, the pain of torture at Malfoy Manor. And when she was finished, she sought to face herself.

There she was. Paler, certainly, and far thinner than she'd ever been. Positively gaunt with hollowed eyes staring back at her, paralleling the hollows of her cheek, the notch of her throat, the shadows beneath her clavicles. Her hair was even somehow less. Though longer, as she'd not cut it as she'd cut the boys', it was bedraggled at the ends and lank at the roots. It hung heavily even as edges of unrepentant curls tufted away from the drudged mass hanging beyond her shoulders. However, it was her eyes that startled her most.