Title: Lost her Mind

Ratings: Nothing to make you blush or wince.

Pairings: HG/SS

Time taken: Probably more than thirty minutes, but the computer did crash in the middle, and if it's a problem you can always stop reading two-thirds of the way in.

Hermione Granger had lost her mind.

To be more precise, Hermione Granger had no recollection of any of her time at Hogwarts. She hadn't been stripped of her magic; she was still a witch, but a witch with no more idea how to cast a spell than any Muggle. Severus wondered if she was aware of her magic, locked away from her, in the same way that people had phantom feelings after a limb had been severed.

She couldn’t remember Potter either, which he thought was an advantage, and then felt mildly ashamed of himself for thinking that.

Some fugitive Death Eater’s idea of revenge for the death of Voldemort the theory went, though five years in the keeping; Hermione couldn’t tell them what had happened. It was probably true; what better way to punish a Mudblood who’d fought for her right to stay in the Wizarding World, than to deprive her of it and her friends.


The Ministry decided she shouldn’t be told about magic, they were too busy debating whether she was a witch or a Muggle to try and treat her. So in the end Dumbledore had almost kidnapped her from St Mungos and taken her back to Hogwarts. Then Dumbledore had turned to him for a cure, and he’d found himself ushered into her room one day to talk to her.

“Do I know you?” she’d asked.

Something made him say, “No.”

“I didn’t think so,” she said. “You didn’t give me that look, the one that pleads with me to remember, and then turns to hurt when I can’t.”

“I’m here to see if we can help you remember,” he replied.

“So you’re a doctor, or maybe a psychiatrist?” she’d asked, and he hadn't known what she meant. Some Muggle terms no doubt. So he’d simply called himself a researcher and left it at that. It seemed to satisfy her.

“Ah that’s why they called you Professor. This isn’t a hospital at all; it’s your lab really. It explains the old-fashioned surroundings,” she said. “Researchers never get much money, do they?”

Some things were true the world over then.




He needed to identify the curse before anything else, and that meant long hours spent talking to Miss Granger about her recollections. She’d asked him to call her Hermione fairly quickly, and he couldn’t think of a reason not to, not unless he admitted to having taught her once. So he became Severus in his turn.

She could remember what Muggle books she’d read, and what music she liked, and her ability to reason and argue seemed unaffected; though he deplored her preference for Rossini over Vivaldi.

Weeks passed, and he narrowed down the possibilities. The work was slow but he had to be thorough; a mistake could see the memory loss become permanent.

Potter and Weasley still came to visit her, but there was so little they could talk about, and the meetings were often strained. Hermione would always particularly pleased to see him after they left. “I know they mean well, but really they’re like strangers to me. They want something that I can’t give them, and it’s horrible.”

“I can tell them not to visit, if you’d like,” he offered.

She shook her head. “No. If our positions were reversed I couldn’t bear it if I was kept away. I’ll grin and bear it.”

He’d patted her hand awkwardly. She blushed. The conversation turned to other things.




The boys cornered him in his study one day wanting to know how ‘things were going’.

“You don’t seem to be progressing towards a cure,” Harry said, pacing restlessly round the room.

“I need to know the precise hex involved,” he’d replied.

“Are you sure that’s it? Hermione seems to be getting on very well with her new friend Severus, and that would all change if she got her memory back wouldn’t it?” Harry hissed.

“Don’t be a fool boy,” Snape said wearily.

His lack of reaction convinced Harry where nothing else would.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Ron asked.

Severus nearly snapped at him, asking him what he thought he could do that would be better or different than the care she was getting, when something struck him. “Whoever cast this curse probably found it in an old family Grimoire. If you can find out who, then you can find out how; if you bring me the Grimoire, I can probably reverse the hex.”

Ron nodded, understanding what wasn’t being said: the Ministry would take too long, you’ll have to do it yourself. “Where do you think we should start?”

“Rodolphus Lestrange was released from Azkaban several months ago. Compassionate parole due to the death of his wife. She was always good at memory charms.”

And then they’d gone.




It took them three weeks. Harry turned up one night, looking tired and filthy and handed over an old book. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

Severus nodded. He didn’t ask what they did to get it; nothing Rodolphus hadn't richly deserved.

The curse was easy enough to find, and the reversal simple enough to effect. It was just that Hermione would have no memory of anything that happened between the loss of her memory, and it’s return. No recollection of the discussions they’d had. It would be Miss Granger and Professor Snape again.

There was a fine tremor in his hands when he brought the potion to her.

“And that’s going to make me better?” she asked.

He’d spun her some story about a trial of a wonderdrug, and how it would take a full course to see any benefits, but yes, she would be better.

“What are the side effects?”

“There will be a full return to health.”

“There’s something you’re not telling me, Severus, I can tell. What is it?”

“You may find that your memory of the last few months will be impaired.”

“Oh.” She didn’t say anything, then, “Does it have to be taken straight away?”

“It would be better if you took the draught in the next couple of hours.”

Another awkward silence, and then the gentle suggestion that he come back in an hour; she wanted time to think.

He almost hoped that she wouldn’t take the Potion. Potter and Weasley had been summoned to her side, so that when he returned there was no chance for him to say his farewells – for he had no doubt Potter was right, it would be his farewells - in private.

She took the glass from his hands, and thanked him sweetly for all his help. Three swallows and it was gone. Potter and Weasley started forward when she passed out, and shot him glares of suspicion.

“She will sleep for a few hours, and when she awakes all will be as it should be. I would be grateful if you didn’t inform Miss Granger of how the cure was effected. I would prefer not to be overwhelmed by thanks.” He turned on his heel and left for the dungeons and a bottle of Firewhiskey.





He wasn’t at his best next morning, but he didn’t take anything to help. The Hangover felt appropriate, so he let it alone.

Miss Granger knocked on his door at mid-morning, when the pain had settled to a dull throbbing, and he could articulate again.

“I’ve come to say thank you for all your help.”

“I should have known that those two wouldn’t keep quiet,” he’d snapped.

“She told me.”

“She, who? Poppy?”

“No. Hermione.” Hermione held up a piece of parchment. “She wrote me a letter.”

Severus felt as though a vice had seized hold of his chest.

“She wrote me a letter all about you, and how kind you’d been to her. She said you had nice eyes, and you do. I’d never noticed that before.”

He was suddenly aware that his rooms were untidy, his robes were disordered, and he hadn't shaved that morning.

“She said that, although you had poor taste in music sometimes, that you were someone worth getting to know.”

“I … er … um … Would you like to come in and have a cup of tea, Hermione?”

“That would be very pleasant, thank you.”

It appeared that Hermione Granger had lost her mind; Severus found it in his heart to be truly grateful for that fact.