A/N: This was written for the 2016 SSHG Gift Fest on LiveJournal. It's three chapters in length. I've decided to cross-post it here. You can find more information about my prompt below.

Thank you, as always, to my kind beta and friend, Brittny, for her immeasurable help. It can't have been easy putting up with reading my stuff all these years. #AmIRight? And thank you to those who are and/or might leave positivity in that Review Box, whether for this attempt or something else. It's what's kept my muse hanging on for five years, so that's gotta count for something, no? As I've so often expressed with my past storytelling efforts: without your thoughts, it isn't worth sharing.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is copyrighted to and belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox. No money, just fun. Artwork is credited to lily-fox on DeviantArt and entitled, "Rooibos".

LJ Fest: SSHG Gift Fest
Giftee: worrywart
Creator: CRMediaGal
Beta(s): Brittny
Rating: R
Warning(s): Smut, Mild Language
Prompt: Severus has spent years trying to find relief from the deep ache caused by the snake bite. He's tried Muggle physio/acupuncture, hypnosis, potions, spells, counter jinks, etc. Hermione is a specialist in your choice of unique technique, to whom Severus has been recommended. It's a last ditch effort. After a few sessions/classes the couple begin to become friends, and as Severus finally heals, they become more.

The Cure

By CRMediaGal

Chapter 1: Desperation and Hope

This is assuredly one of your more wretched ideas; or, perhaps, the most absurd.

Severus ground his teeth together to keep from issuing what would have naturally resembled a snarl of the utmost frustration. He separated his interwoven, bony hands to flex them apart, hoping to loosen the sweaty, cramped grip that had resulted from the unpleasant sensations he was currently experiencing.

You did this to yourself, numbskull. Twice. Severus squeezed his eyes shut, draped his hands over top of his abdomen, and inhaled deep, calculated breaths. In and out. In and out. This nonsense will be over soon.

The acupuncturist had informed him at the start of these wonky procedures that there could 'be no gain without pain', whatever the bloody hell that meant. He should have walked straight out of the barmy git's office then and there but, instead, he had allowed Desperation to have a go at his expense. This would be the second and last time he would suffer this humiliation, thank you very much!

The office was dreary-looking, cramped, and far off the beaten path, concealed in an alleyway in a seedy part of London. The blinds were kept shut and the furniture was minimal and fraying at the edges. None of this caused you concern the first time, did it? Severus griped to his stubborn, irritable conscience. Bleedin' twat.

The place smelled of a miserable mixture of disinfectants and peculiar incense Severus's large nose couldn't quite place. Desperation lead you to this foolishness, he reminded himself as his fingers found themselves unconsciously tightening together once more.

His muggle practitioner spoke broken English, but that didn't bother Severus so much as the lack of patient flow—You are the only wizard daft enough to be trying this, after all!—as well as the fact that the office contained only one practitioner and a rather questionably young-looking assistant.

All of these red flags should have clued the brilliant, sharply shrewd Severus Snape in that this was going to be another failed attempt at sought-after relief. An alternative, muggle pseudoscience—no matter how ancient and well-regarded it may be—wasn't going to cure him of the pains brought on by a snake breed of wizarding origin. He considered himself a fool for taking yet another chance on muggle medicine, but then, Severus Snape had taken many more gambles since Nagini slaughtered him short of his life six years ago. This likely wouldn't be his final futile endeavour in pursuit of respite.

A horrible, suctioning pain at the source of Severus's grievances brought him cruelly back to the present. He tensed his shoulders and cursed an excruciating, "Fuck!" before it could be stopped. His body reacted instinctively, jerking away from the vacuuming suction that was clamped against his jugular. A small but firm hand quickly grabbed his forehead to prevent him from moving another inch.

"Ah, Mr Snape," a short, bald-headed Asian man with wise eyes chuckled close to his left ear. "No moving! It's painful, I know, but it works."

Wanna bet? Severus wondered but kept such challenging thoughts under wraps. He had wasted enough precious galleons on absurd remedies, both medical and magical, to cure this affliction. This, he determined this morning, was one of the worst he had tried: cupping therapy. And also the bloody last! he swore off as the suctioning sensation finally subsided, though his throat continued burning as if he had gulped down too much Firewhisky in one swig.

"Lots of pain?" the seemingly amused Asian man probed as the last cup was removed.

Severus, realising that his upper body was far too stiff, forced his shoulders to slump and pried his eyes open. He sneered up at the culprit of his present misfortunes and spat between his teeth, "Yes. Exceptionally."

"Ah, yes. Pain is good, Mr Snape. Yes," the muggle rambled on as he and his taller, too-tight robed female assistant shuffled around Severus's reclining clinical chair, putting their funny-looking contraptions away out of sight. "Pain be worse before it be better. Pain be gone soon, yes."

Severus offered a parting scowl. "There won't be another."

The acupuncturist turned around and raised a bushy, white eyebrow at him. "No?"

"No." Giving a swipe to the front of his pristine, black frock coat, Severus rose gracefully out of the patient chair, nodded curtly to the doctor, and thanked him for his time. "That will be all. Good day."

"Ah... Good day, Mr Snape?"

The door to the clinical room had closed before the muggle had finished replying. He would never see the pale, gangly man with the nastiest neck wounds he had ever seen again.

Severus glanced over the sparse information in his hand, the sceptic, critical scowl lining his mouth acutely telling. His old mate, Lucius Malfoy, had supplied the address to him days ago, and he could barely make out the wizard's lazily-imparted cursive; but the information had been supplied, nonetheless, though there was not much else to go on. He supposed he was at the right place as his dark, slit-like eyes glanced between Lucius's scribbled note and the number next to the impressive iron gates several times over—That looks like a nine but it might be a seven? Oh, of all the... Lucius, you unhelpful arse!—but he wasn't yet ready to take the plunge by passing through the front gates and heading up the stone steps. Severus knew his friend to be a better chap than all this, but the man's lack of full disclosure was untoward and aggravating in the extreme.

It was only in passing conversation the other day at Lucius's home at Malfoy Manor that the acquitted Death Eater had suggested that Severus seek therapy. "I have tried therapy, Lucius, and many forms of it, in fact," Severus started intervening on him when the still suave, ever elusive wizard whipped out a quill, tore off a piece of parchment from an empty scroll on top of his desk, and began writing furiously and secretively, all whilst "tut, tut"ing at Severus under his breath.

He then handed Severus the address of which he was now in pursuit and briefly explained, as he escorted his guest out of his study and back to the sitting room to Floo home, "Give this person a try, Severus. I'm telling you, they made a world of difference for me."

Severus flashed Lucius a frown that appeared both confounded and equally suspicious. "Who is this per—?"

"If I told you, you wouldn't believe me," Lucius responded with a chuckle.

That wasn't exactly encouraging. Severus's scowl deepened. "Then what kind of therapy are we talk—?"

"If I told you that, you wouldn't go," Lucius only served to tease him further, smiling in that ambiguous, charming manner that Severus openly despised. It put his mounting reservations on edge.

His insides recoiled, suspecting. "I don't need a psychiatrist, Lucius."

"You really think I would lead you astray?"

"My afflictions aren't of the head," Severus pressed irritably, quietly.

"I know that, Severus." Lucius added, with boisterous laughter, "But I daresay that's debatable to some!"

Severus wasn't in the mood. "Why have you failed to mention this person before?"

Lucius shrugged, showcasing no offence. "I figured something else would come along and work out for you." He reached around Severus to gently pat him on the back. "I'm sorry, my friend. Do give this person a ring. They come highly recommended, but only by word of mouth, and I'd be shocked if they couldn't help you in some way."

"And if they don't?"

Lucius's smile was faint but nonetheless earnest. "Then we both gave it our best shot."

"'We'?" Severus reiterated, one eyebrow arched in inquisition.

Severus and Lucius had reached the sitting room fireplace, where Lucius abruptly turned his back, muttered something about farewells under his breath, and allowed Severus to see himself out. Severus stared on, thoroughly displeased as Lucius left with little to no more particulars, and settled for ringing the muggle practitioner the next morning. He could only assume it was a muggle practice, after all, seeing as Lucius had mentioned phoning for an appointment. The wacky image of Lucius Malfoy attempting to use a muggle telephone was enough to almost put Severus off the idea. Almost.

The female secretary on the other end had been overly jolly with Severus's inquiry and just so happened to have an opening mid-morning the following day. When Severus had probed for more information about the vague practice's services, the chipper lady's response had been curiously odd and unrevealing. "All will be explained in full upon agreeing to our patient-practitioner confidentiality agreement, Mr Snape," the sectary had sought to explain without providing more details. "We don't like to solicit our services to the general public for fear of being inundated with more overflow than our head of the office can handle. For you, sir, we will be most glad to consult and see if there are any treatments we can provide you."

'What a load of bollocks', Severus had thought after slamming down the phone at a local muggle booth, feeling bewildered rather than relieved. It was only with Lucius's good word in mind that he was determined to go forward with the appointment at all.

And desperation has led you to your newest low, he sourly reflected at present, a look of disgust crossing his weathered features, as Severus stepped from the sidewalk to open the iron gate.

A recognition of familiar magic ghosted over him, leaving Severus's wizarding senses tingling and his feet halting in their tracks as the gates clashed shut behind him. Wards. Invisible to the muggle eye, and yet, he had had to use a muggle form of communication to reach the office. This place was becoming curiouser and curiouser.

Severus climbed the three stone steps to the front door, passing by three thick pillars on either side, and entered without hindrance. The wards were growing stronger, however, scanning and reading for Severus's identity, prickling at every intuition he possessed. And that was all before he had reached the front desk, tall and imposing and half hiding the bubbly personality stationed behind it.

A bright secretary, with a sunny disposition and eye-popping, bleach blonde hair, raised her eyes and greeted him with a smile. "Mr Snape, I presume?" she inquired pleasantly.

Severus recognised the woman's voice as the same from their brief, peculiar telephone exchange the previous day. "Indeed."

"A pleasure to meet you, sir. Welcome! Do take a seat. She'll be right with you."

Ahhh, a 'she'. We're getting somewhere...

Severus nodded agreeably and slithered into a nearby chair, of which there were only a handful to choose from. It didn't take long for him to launch into a rapid spiral of angsty, inner-monologues, however. Appointments were always a jittery, wretched affair and this, Severus easily presumed, would prove no different from the rest. That small droplet of Hope was already rippling and expanding through him and the longer he was permitted time to weigh the pros and cons inside his head, the more aggravating it became. He despised such relentless wishing that something might come of all his painstaking efforts and persistence over the past six years, for Hope had a morbid regularity of turning around and biting him in the arse.

Severus grunted, wove his wiry arms across his chest, and made to block out this inconvenient reoccurrence by scrutinising the waiting room instead. The powder blue walls offered no sharper glimpses or hints as to where he was. Hanging posters of painfully feigned smiles of nameless faces surrounded him from all sides, ranging in age and depiction, either lying on cots or seated in clinical chairs. They grinned at a practitioner whose face was inconveniently kept out of sight; only the back of her colourless robe was seen in the corner of each and every frame.

Perplexed, and growing increasingly disquieted, Severus settled for grinding his teeth together and allowing a harsh contour to form between his eyes. His attention was soon diverted to a small wooden table to his right, sandwiched between two large windows. A handful of information cards were displayed, though their contents was unusually blank, puzzling Severus even more. A protective charm against muggles' prying eyes had obviously been charmed on the cards, prompting Severus to stand and take one for safekeeping...and to study with meticulous precision later on. Severus angled the card every which way between his long fingers but it remained curiously empty, despite his magical touch.

The cheerful secretary suddenly snuck up behind him and addressed the distracted former spy. "Mr Snape?" Severus spun on his heel, and the secretary hastily retracted at his skittish reaction. "Sorry, love; didn't mean to frighten you."

"You haven't," he snapped, fumbling as he shoved the card deep into one of his coat pockets. He was so caught off guard by the woman's interruption that his sunken cheeks flushed pink.

"Well, you can come back now. She's ready for you."

Severus made an unappreciative noise but followed the secretary through a warded steel door, entering into a narrow, low lit hallway with a series of more heavily magically barred doors to his right and left. All were closed save for the last, a small but homey-looking office decorated in warm reds, nut-browns, and dark golds on his far left. He was led directly into this room and instructed to make himself comfortable by the secretary, who hurriedly left Severus, noiselessly shutting the door behind her.

He chose not to sit as suggested, though, for his inner qualms were expanding in intensity by the moment. He stared out of a solitary window to his left, peeking between the blinds to a quiet, undisturbed London side street; but his anxieties weren't alleviated by the silence or the empty scenery.

This was a mistake, he argued with himself as his ears honed in on an annoying ticking clock hanging on the wall. Where the hell am I? Why in the bloody hell would I agree to anything Lucius suggests? Has my sheer desperation grown that preposterous that I'd consider—?

"Hello...Severus. May I call you Severus?"

That voice. That prickling force of another powerful magical being occupying this closed space with him, and not just anyone... Dear Merlin and Circe, let me be wrong.

Severus's shoulders straightened as he found himself hesitating to turn around and face the person behind him. After sucking in a breath, he veered about, beady eyes tearing from the window to the recognisable woman clad in a white robe standing in front of the office door. His entire body froze as he took in her presence, his dragon-hide boots fastening to the floorboards against his will.

"Merlin, strike me dead. Now," he muttered aloud, the words slipping his tongue before he could halt their release.

Hermione Granger, in all her furiously curly-haired glory, rolled her eyes at him and cast the door shut with a minor, near miss-able flick of her wrist. Her wand was then spindled in between a few thick knots of her hair, which was still as unruly as Severus remembered from when she was a swotty student of his at Hogwarts, though it was now pulled back into a ridiculous lopsided ponytail.

"Honestly, Severus," she replied in a measured, professional tone of voice that threw Severus for a loop; she sounded a touch agitated but more humoured than he believed she ought to be, "I can think of a number of people worse than I whom you might come into contact with today.

"Now, won't you take a seat? I think you'll find it's more preferable to standing for the whole hour."

Severus would have Apparated from this staggering situation were he not so utterly dumbfounded by the sight of the individual standing in front of him. Six years. It had been roughly six years since he had last laid eyes on Hermione Granger, lauded former Gryffindor princess and (undoubtedly) brightest member of the infamous Golden Trio.

No one—at least, none of those who ran in Severus's circle, and his contact list was admittedly (and purposely) small—had seen eye or hair of Miss Granger since roughly a year after the war. Unlike her shiny, hero-clad friends, Potter and Weasley, Miss Granger had somehow managed to keep her name and her face out of the papers. No one seemed to know what she was up to these days; or, perhaps, the general public had ceased to care. She had never openly accepted her significant part in Potter's victory and had declined honours and interviews since the Dark Lord's defeat.

She looked exceptionally well, Severus considered, judging by the professional robe she donned (that happened to accentuate certain curves of the young witch's that hadn't been there in years' past), the appealing freckles that dotted the tip of her nose and cheeks, and the overall radiance in her confident demeanour. She appeared to be wearing a bit of blush and lip-gloss as well, which accented her natural glow, and carried an air of wisdom in those welcoming, caramel-coloured eyes that had been horribly naive before the war.

She was...attractive, but that was beside the point. "Very well...Miss Granger," Severus resigned, though reluctantly, stiffly, bringing his attention back to the awkward state of things at the present time.

"Oh, please," she brushed off, chuckling softly, "do feel free to call me Hermione, Severus! I prefer to keep things informal and casual around here."

Swallowing his growing confusion and discomfort, and realising he had been overtly staring at her—How old was she now anyhow? Twenty four? Twenty five?—in a manner that was, in all likelihood, inappropriate, Severus inched away from the window and glanced about, uncertain of where to shift his attention to next.

Hermione didn't seem to have taken notice of her one-time professor's roving eyes, however; or if she had, she was acting entirely nonchalant and unbothered by the fact. He watched her settle into a swivelling, leather-bound chair in the centre of the room, positioned between a circular glass table that housed a feathered quill, folder, and parchment and a larger wooden one, which contained an operating tea tray. The kettle suddenly lifted itself into the air and proceeded to pour steaming hot tea into two silver cups. Traces of cinnamon and vanilla aroma infiltrated Severus's senses.

"Would you care to begin or shall I?" she politely proposed after a moment, seeing as the ex-professor had seemingly become momentarily entranced—or, perhaps, purposely redirected—by the self-serving tea set.

Severus blinked and resumed his gaze of Hermione, conveying, in not so uncertain terms, his mistrust of her intentions by frowning long and hard. The witch evidently was unfazed by this, for she simply extended a hand, pointed towards a vacant club sofa opposite her, and encouraged him to follow her lead.

Severus chewed his inner cheek, finally prying his immobile legs apart. He glided forward and took an unenthusiastic seat, his spindly frame solidifying against the back of the sofa, uneasy. Potential patient and practitioner, prior teacher and pupil, stared at one another for a lengthy pause without speaking. Severus could sense her magic radiating outward, filling the room inch by inch and poking for more details against his strong mental barriers.

Slowly, Hermione swished her wand in a circle and the quill and parchment were abruptly hovering next to her, awaiting their next instructions. Giving the instruments a short acknowledgment, the quill began scribbling madly, filling the stifling quietness with its scratchy, impulsive scrawls. Its vexing sound set Severus's teeth on edge, but he willed himself to ignore it. For now.

"I'm sure you have quite a lot of questions," she began in that calm register that was quite foreign to Severus, coaxing his dubious regard away from the moving quill and back to her charming but stern expression, "and I think we should get those out of the way before we delve into you, wouldn't you agree?"

Severus's dark eyes wavered, shimmering between the fleeting wont to see himself out and coercing his flighty arse to stay on the sofa. "Quite," he gritted through clenched teeth, hardly at all ready to forge ahead. What in Merlin's beard had he gotten himself into this time?

"Well, as you can see, this is my office," she began, nonchalant, before Severus put a stop to whatever spiel she intended to try to sell him.

"What are you, Miss Granger?" he commanded ever so quietly, to which she blinked but didn't falter in answering freely.

"Hermione," she corrected with a soft smile. "I work within my own designs, through a combination of healing and muggle medicine. I find these practices have their equal, respective uses to us—that they're co-dependent in many ways—and unique to every affliction and symptom and individual circumstance."

Severus saw no point in beating around the bush and asked, instead, pointedly, "Are you a psychiatrist?"

One corner of Hermione's mouth tugged upward. "Of sorts."

Severus raised a questioning eyebrow. "'Of sorts'?"

"I'm a practitioner of many varients, Severus," she explained collectedly, "and I often combine the two based upon the patient's personal needs. I'm not of one in particular. I handle all sorts of—"

"Are you a psychiatrist, Miss Granger?"

Hermione paused and angled her head, her expression unnervingly unforthcoming as she surveyed his face. "Do you think you require therapy?"

"Absolutely not," Severus came back hard, affronted.

"Or antidepressants?" she pressed with further gentleness.

Severus shot the inquiring witch a wrangled look. "I'm not depressed."

"We shall see." Hermione gave a small nod to her working quill and it paused. "Good point. Scratch that." The quill's subsequent scraping caused one of Severus's eyes to twitch. "One of the only decent inventions that that wretched Rita Skeeter ever came up with," she mused in acknowledgement of the self-writing quill, but Severus was ready to carry on.

"Why the phone number?" he asked, hoping to side-track his heightening exacerbations.

"Because I take on muggle and wizarding patients, and I prefer muggle communication since I choose to be more discreet on the wizarding spectrum. I prefer to keep my practice out of the public eye. Perhaps you can understand why?" She offered Severus a thoughtful, knowing look over. "The press can be quite...overwhelming. And bad for business."

Severus pursed his lips, both conflicted and perturbed. "I suppose I shall now have to sign some confidentiality agreement to keep your identity quiet, even if I refuse your treatment?"

Hermione smiled again. "You gave your permission when you entered my office...or you wouldn't have followed my secretary into this room, would you?"

Severus's shoulders went rigid, having sensed the witch's scanning wards earlier. "No."

"And my secretary forewarned you on the phone, I trust?"

"Correct."

"Then it's settled."

Hermione re-crossed one leg over the other, and the subtlety briefly caught Severus's wandering eye. Her legs were bare and smooth, curvaceous, and he couldn't help but consider that she had particularly fetching-looking ankles. He had no bloody business being captivated by her lower half whatsoever and, luckily, Hermione's voice dragged Severus's attentions back to where they belonged: on her face.

"Do you intend to refuse treatment; or shall we give this a try?"

Severus's insides churned with unpleasantness. The assumption of enduring another round of false hopes was dreadful, the reality of working with Hermione Granger even worse. "What are your intentions, Miss Granger?" he demanded, keeping his expression as emotionless as possible as he stared Hermione down from across an ugly shag carpet and a cup of tea that was now floating towards him.

"To get to the bottom of your afflictions and then treat them accordingly."

Severus's mouth broke out in a sneer. "I doubt you can help me."

To his surprise, she challenged him back in an unruffled voice, "Then why did you come here?"

"Because Lucius Malfoy, in his infinite wisdom, seems to think you can cure me."

"He's a good man, Lucius," came Hermione's admirable regard. Her lips curved into a peculiar grin that only compounded Severus's frustrations. Between the scarce information he had had to go on and what his friend may be privy to that he wasn't, Severus was beginning to think this whole meeting was a setup.

Severus veered off course, his curiosity hungry for more details about the reasoning behind Hermione's smile. "Why did Lucius come to see you?"

"I'm afraid I can't disclose that. That would go against patient confidentiality."

"Yet, you won't tell me what exactly it is you propose to do about my treatment."

Hermione flicked her wand at the quill and it ceased jotting notes. "I can't tell you yet how I intend to treat you until I know more about what you're experiencing, Severus."

"Seems like a load of codswallop to me," Severus grumbled under his breath. He placed his arms over his chest, trying to ignore how his prized former student's first name address was garnering an unnecessary stirring in his trousers.

Hermione leaned forward in her chair, still the epitome of professionalism, and countered frankly, "You seem to say these things out of fear, Severus. What are you afraid of?"

"I'm afraid of nothing, Granger."

"Hermione. And bollocks." She snorted, stunning Severus into silence. "Everyone's afraid of something." She considered him for a short while, in a manner that felt entirely too invasive for his liking, and he wilfully looked away. She rattled his emotional cage a little bit more with another straightforward question. "How many treatments have you tried?"

Severus kept his arms tightly crossed and mumbled towards the ground, "Virtually everything."

"Muggle medicines? Hypnosis? Potions? Acupuncture? Healing spells?"

"Yes," he whispered, his deep voice dispassionate. His eyes remained firmly glued on the carpet.

"Have any of them shown minor improvements in the pains resulting from your snake bites?"

Severus's eyes flew to Hermione's face, stricken by what she had unearthed without him telling her explicitly. "How do you know?" he snipped with defence. An uncomfortable heat was seeping up his neck and onto his cheeks, and Hermione's obvious sympathy and compassion towards him only made it more pronounced.

"I think it's an easy assumption to make, given Nagini's vicious attack. It must have had some lingering effect on you, surely, whether physically or psychologically." She hesitated, drawing somewhat inward for a moment as she stated in a hushed register, "I remember that day very vividly. It was heinous; absolutely heinous. I... I'm sorry."

"Whatever for?" Severus all but snarled back, desiring nothing more than to fly out of the room. Some burly, unflinching sensation was propelling him to stay put, and he sensed that it wasn't entirely of his own free will.

Hermione's care and concern endured as she stared into his troubled, gnarly expression. "That you've continued to suffer for as long as you have. Six years is an awfully long time." She waited for a pause, and when Severus retorted nothing else, only ogled her with a mixture of fright and something more that was, as of yet, unexplainable, she pressed on carefully, delicately, "I welcome the opportunity to treat you, Severus. How about you tell me a little about your pains, what has and hasn't worked for you, and we'll go from there?"

There was a considerable pause. Then a defeated-sounding bit of closemouthed fuss echoed from the comfy sofa, and Severus reluctantly accepted Hermione's cup of tea.

A/N #2: Thank you to those who review.