A partially prompt inspired Snamione Ficlett. There is a potential to expand upon this and turn it into a longer chaptered fic.
But we'll see how this first part goes over first. Reviews are deeply appreciated..

Summary: Severus Snape is a deeply important yet hugely neglected double agent in one of the greatest wizarding wars in Magical History. Hermione Granger can't stand the injustice behind his treatment. What happens when the aftermath of a recently cast cruciatus curse troubles the Potions Master during class time?

Disclaimer: Anything affiliated with JK Rowling and the Harry Potter books and movies are sadly not mine.
I'm just borrowing the world and its characters to play with.

~x~

It was the last class of the day.
She watched the cauldron in front of her simmer up to a boil and slid a small tray of dittany plants into the concoction.

Harry and Ron were murmuring something inaudible to Neville , but her attention was focused on the Professor.
She'd seen his arm twitch abnormally one too many times during the short period of time she'd been looking his way.
If she were to be brutally honest, her heart ached. And she was angry.
It didn't take a fool to see that he was suffering.
And on that note, she wondered why he was allowed to suffer the way was, with obviously very little relief, and still be expected to run a classroom.
His black eyes were sunken, he was doing his best to hide muscle spasms beneath his robes, and he was sitting instead of looming, pretending to mark papers.

She'd become increasingly infuriated with The Order's lack of concern for him over the passing months.
When he was absent from meetings his name wasn't so much as mentioned. People didn't ask about him unless it was to demand updates or favors.
Her two closest companions still made scathing comments about "The Bat of the Dungeons" and occasionally brought to question if he was "really on our side".
The few times she raised her voice to broach the topic herself, she'd been quickly shut down.

"Severus can handle himself, Hermione"
"This has been on his shoulders for many years Hermione"
"He knows what he's doing Hermione."

All aged voices that dripped wisdom without having much care for the blatantly obvious. He wasn't okay.
Who would be okay living the way he lived? Living in fear that any moment his arm would burn and he'd have mere seconds to apparate to the Dark Lord without appearing disobedient.

The irony was that at the moment he was likely more at risk than the Chosen One himself. Harry Potter was safe for now in the comfort of Hogwarts.
Severus Snape was thrown into Death Eater revels and positioned at the feet of the Dark Lord on a regular basis.
And if she didn't know any better, she would say that he was suffering the after effects of the particularly vicious cruciatus curse judging by his pained expression and frequent muscle spasms.

There was no respect, there was no consideration, he was given nothing of the things he deserved.
His double life put him at risk every day, yet people treated him as little more than a pawn that would run out of usefulness sooner rather than later.

She heard a distinct out of place bubbling from behind her and whipped round to see Neville's face burning a bright red as his potion began to glow an unnatural purple in contrast to everyone elses light blue mixture.
"A-ah, S-sir?"
She'd never heard someone ask for help in such profoundly terrified manner. And rightly so, she thought.

The Potion Master's eyes flicked up violently, his jaw locked in place. His entire demeanour had exuded the fact that today was not a day to bother him.
If looks could kill she was sure that Neville would be 6 feet under and then some.

"Do you have any spec of intellect in your veins, Longbottom?" he gritted out as he scraped back his chair and stood stiffly.
Several of the papers he'd had been fixating on fell to the floor as his robes caught against them.

Harry and Ron exchanged sympathetic glances with their friend while Hermione eyed the potions master worriedly.
Standing up, his legs were shaking. Not just his legs- his entire body.
His entire self seemed to vibrate.
She could tell that his body was one step away from giving out from under him.
And from the brief flicker of panic in his eyes, she knew that he realized it too.

His hand shakily moved to lean on his desk as he tried to keep himself upright and maintain some façade of control.

Other students had begun looking at one another in confusion at the delayed reaction unfolding before them.
Why wasn't he tearing down the Gryffindor boy?
Why wasn't he removing house points?
What's going on?

She couldn't draw attention to his condition publicly. A teacher suffering from a cruciatus curse would cause outrage if anyone recognized the symptoms and spread the information.
But more importantly, she couldn't leave her Professor to collapse in front of a bunch of gossip hungry students, most of which she was sure would relish a good look if it was allowed to take place.
Hermione's eyes darted around looking for a solution to prevent a bad situation from escalating.

Her eyes settled on Neville's failed potion for a brief second as her brain tried to connect a feasible plan to act upon.
The moment it came together in her head she knew that if she went through with it she would likely either end in detention for the remainder of her school career, or lose the prefect status she'd been so proud to receive at the start of the year.
But in the end, what was a badge and a title in comparison to the humiliation of a man who had done so much for The Order and the wizarding world but been repaid so little, even in common courtesy?

She took one last look at the struggling man at the front of the room for strength before she stood up, held her prefects badge in her hand and put a convincing arm over her nose
"The room needs to be evacuated immediately. This is an extremely concentrated Dizziness draught." she announced to her confused peers, pointing accusingly at Neville's botched potion.
"If inhaled it can cause an awful cases of sickness, fainting, and collapsing. Do not breathe in the air."
"And please return directly to your dormitories, no loitering in the halls. Other classes are still in session!"

Her heart was racing as a murmur of panic began to rise among the students.

Many of them glanced between the Gryffindor Prefect and their Potions Master. Some grabbed their bags and upon seeing no reaction other than a visibly pained expression on the Professor quickly trickled out, while others held their breath for fear of leaving.

"Come on Moine" Ron was tugging at her sleeve and trying to talk through a pinched nose, "We should go"
"I'll be fine- I need to help dispose of the potion properly and write a prefects report, I'll take care of it, but you need to leave and help everyone out of the dungeons."
"All of you" she asserted in a louder voice as she watched the last few students run out into the corridor for gasps of air.

"Harry, take Ron and wait for me in the Common Room, I'll be up once I'm finished here. Make sure Neville's okay."
Poor Neville. She felt a small wave of guilt wash over her for using the already anxious boy as a scapegoat.

"Snape's looking a bit peaky." Harry's eyes had shifted to their Professor who was still leaning frozen against his desk, his eyes concentrating on a square of stone on the floor.

"We'll be fine, but you both need to move before you start looking peaky too" she gave him a motivating push on the shoulder.

Hesitantly Harry voiced an affirmative and helped shove his redheaded friend through the door and into the corridor with one last shout of "You're mad you are" thrown in her direction from Ronald.

For once she was thankful that the rest of her classmates viewed her as a goody two shoes know-it-all.
Exhaling a sigh of relief, she slammed the classroom door shut and locked it before rushing to the Professor's side as he finally fell to his knees beside his desk.
"What do you think you're doing Granger" he hissed out.
His voice sounded more like a whisper than it did a venom filled question.

"I just saved you from being humiliated in front of an entire classroom of students, if you want to punish me do it later, but now tell me what you need so we can fix this."

Their eyes clashed stubbornly before he finally slumped down against the leg of his desk in silence, defeated.
"Should I get Poppy?"
"No"

He curled over slightly and let out a pained half grunt as he felt his muscles tighten uncomfortably over his bones.

Not knowing what to do with herself she reached out and put her hand on his arm.
His eyes snapped upwards to look at her but he didn't shrug her off. Either he appreciated the comfort or he was too weak to remove it. She assumed the latter- but at least she had his attention.
"Tell me what you need"

He threw a scowl at her "My rooms. Oscar Wilde"

She paused for a moment in confusion before her mouth twitched upwards as she realized that the famous muggle author must be his portrait's password.

"Can you stand at all?"
He gave a slight nod and winced at the effort it took to move as she guided his arm around her neck for support.

The journey to his rooms was slow and tedious.
There was much shuffling and stumbling before she finally settled him into the most comfortable looking chair she could find.
He was painfully quiet throughout the entire ordeal. She could see self loathing in his face.
He was humiliated regardless of her efforts.

"Professor, are there any potions that would help with the pain?"
"Your presence is no longer required. I am fine where I am." his voice was the type of low growl that promised consequence for disobedience, but the pained quiver beneath it took away from it's harshness.

"No, you just don't want it to be required" she bit back.
"How dare you-"
"Everyone else might leave you to your own devices, but I'm not going to stand by and watch this."

He wished he could get up and stride off. He wished he didn't have to look at her glazed over eyes. He wished he could grab her by the arm and throw her out of his rooms. He was fuming.
Arrogant, interfering, Gryffindor chit.
Another charity case to add to her collection with the house elves.
He threw a piercing look her way.

The moment he could speak in full sentences without the risk of his vocal chords giving up on him he'd be sure to send her wailing all the way back up to her dormitory. Victimized by the Greasy Bat of the Dungeons.

It took all the effort he could muster to turn his face away from hers.
There was a stretch of uncomfortable silence for several minutes where neither of them said anything.

But then there was a hand on his upper arm, pressing.
Thin fingers worked their way over his tightened muscles.
To his dismay he let out an audible breath of relief and he could almost feel her smile of satisfaction in the air.

The girl was trying to massage out the aftermath of a cruciatus curse from his body.

"What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?"
"Helping"
"This is entirely inappropriate"
"You're not giving me any better alternative."

She continued.
At first he tried to freeze a scowl into his features.
But she could feel his muscles unwinding under her fingertips.
And as reluctant as he was to admit it, her small touches were giving him a small but blessed amount of relief.
The irony that the after effects of the Dark Lords curse was being countered by a muggle method of relaxation wasn't lost on him.

She found her way down the rest of his arm, and then his hands.
And then she pressed his palms and went all the way up each of his finger tips, relieving each digit of pain one at a time.
By time she'd repeated her movements on his other arm, she noticed he'd let his eyelids slide shut and that his facial expression was no longer concentrated on maintaining a dreadful frown.
He wasn't sleeping, he was just feeling.
And he continued to feel as she got on her knees in front of him and began untying his laces.
She cast aside his hard boots and began massaging the soles of his feet and ankles. Soon he was twitching in a way that she suspected was due to being ticklish rather than being in pain.
Severus Snape was had ticklish feet, who would have known?

She pressed her hands all the way up his calves.
Her fingers had gone from healing presses to lingering strokes- she had no idea when one had merged into the other.
She focused on the feel of his fabric rustling against her fingers. The warmth of his skin that radiated through to her attentive hands. He smelt like fresh crisp cotton, grass, and the pages of old books all at once. She felt her lungs inhale and exhale in pleasure as she worked her fingers through the knots in his muscles.

She wondered how many scars he'd suffered over the years.
How many times he'd returned to Hogwarts and collapsed in agony due to a bad night with his second master.
How many times had he crumpled up at night like a beaten child and then taken his classes as normal the following morning?
Her heart gave a sharp pang of a feeling she couldn't place. But it made her want to cry.
The injustice of it, perhaps.

His breath hitched and she realized that her hands had reached his thighs.
A pretty pink blush spread over her face, and his eyes were no longer closed but were peering down at her with what appeared to be a strange mixture of curiosity and bewilderment. There was a moment of unspoken understanding between them that held still in the air. She feared that even a breath out of place would break it.

Dare she continue?
Hesitantly she moved her fingers like a whisper up one firm thigh and pressed down in a feather like motion, only to find her wrist caught in a firm grip a mere moment later.
"No."

It wasn't a no meant to reprimand her. It was void of harshness.
She lowered her lashes and made to softly tug her wrist away.
He held it firm.
"This is not something that can happen."

She wasn't entirely sure how to respond. She wasn't entirely sure she knew what "this" was. He wasn't entirely what "this" was.

"You should return to your dormitory, it's getting late."
He released her wrist and watched as she lifted herself from her place at his feet.

"Are you feeling well...Sir?"
"Better."

She pressed down her uniform and awkwardly turned to leave.

"Miss Granger"
She turned back to see a slight resemblance of the steely classroom professor she was used to.
"Detention for disrupting my class. Details will follow."

She stood for a moment with her mouth half open before promptly shutting it into a narrow lipped line. She turned on her heels and walked briskly back through the potions classroom and out into the corridor.

She didn't know what had just happened. Well she did. She just didn't know what it meant.
The further she walked away from the dungeons, the more everything that happened that day just seemed like a surreal blur.

Botched potion left behind, forgotten, and unattended to.

AN: Let me know what you think~