Lumos

Chapter Nine: "Until Morning"

Hermione

January 2003

Hermione sat on the cold, papered table at St. Mungo's, watching Healer Marcus scribble on his clipboard. It'd been a week since she woke up in this place, detached from the flow of time around her. She'd hoped that by now, things would have been sorted out. Whether that meant her waking up from the nightmare or having her memories suddenly return, she'd hoped that this struggle wouldn't be prolonged. Returning for this follow up appointment was shattering that illusion.

"And you haven't had any memories return?" Healer Marcus asked. Hermione looked from him to George, who was sitting in a chair on the opposite side of the room. George stared down at his folded hands, not moving.

Hermione's brow wrinkled. "I—I'm not sure. There was a moment—"

George's head lifted, his eyes wide. Hermione tried her best to not let the fear of crushing him stop her response.

"—when it felt like I might have been about to remember something, but when I tried to dig deeper, it just...vanished."

Healer Marcus nodded, made a few more marks. Hermione bit her lip, trying to find the words for her next request. She was stuck, for now. And the wheels of time would start to spin, and she was tired of feeling adrift.

"I was talking with George this morning, and I think I'd like to return to work," she said, hesitating over the words. Healer Marcus looked up from the clipboard, and his eyes widened a fraction. Hermione summoned a grin smile. "I need something to work on or I get...jittery." Healer Marcus took her in slowly, then flipped through her chart. Finally, he nodded.

"If you feel ready, the routine would probably be helpful. I'd urge you to take things slowly, however," he said, scratching at the back of his neck. Hermione nodded, grounding herself in the connection to the table. There. Now, that wasn't too difficult.

The next question would be a bit more prickly. Based on the little reading she'd done in sixth year, before making the decision to obliviate her parents, she knew the probable answer. Things that seemed too good to be true with magic usually were. But, what if her understanding had been wrong? It was such an obvious, logical route to take for recovery.

She cleared her throat, steeling herself. "I've been wondering, would Pensieve help?" she asked. Healer Marcus's writing slowed. He placed his clipboard on the counter.

"The mind is a delicate instrument, Mrs. Weasley-Granger." His voice was patient, warm, and kind, but Hermione bristled anyway. She shouldn't have asked. "While the Obliviate has been reversed, your mind has experienced significant trauma. By exposing you to your memories through the eyes of others, we risk contaminated your own, lived experience. It's generally recommended that patients suffering from magical memory loss do their best to let their experiences return naturally."

The image of Gilderoy Lockhart in fifth year flashed through her mind.

"And if they don't?" Hermione said, carefully keeping her eyes on the piece of abstract art on the wall. The tip of her nose hurt, and her throat constricted. She would not cry. She would not cry in this place. Healer Marcus sighed.

Across the room, George shifted to a stand. He crossed the floor and eased onto the opposite end of the examination table. Hermione blinked at him. At his ruffled hair, the scarred remnants of his ear, the way that his oxford sleeves were rolled up at his forearms. His left hand was steady at his side, braced against the examination table's crinkled paper. His hand was close. Close enough that she could reach out and take it, if she wished. Grab hold of something warm and tangible and real amid this sea of fear.