Drabble, drabble.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Duh.


Just a small slip of a knife found Hermione clutching a now bloody forefinger. Molly is going to just love this when she gets back. Even Tonks can make salad without spilling blood. She was too distracted by pain and trying to keep blood drops from landing on anything to notice an exasperated Snape standing in the doorway.

"You're looking for the sink, Miss. Granger ". Hermione's head snapped up to find him looking at her with the usual mix of disdain and annoyance he had when forced into her presence. Hermione was not in the mood to deal with this right now. Her reply of "Thank you, Admiral Arsehole" was stifled by her own sense self preservation just in time. Instead of a snappy comeback, she nodded her head in the direction of a large bucket of water while wrapping a kitchen towel around her injured hand.

"There's a problem with the sink and with as much effort as it took me to get that bucket down here, that water is strictly for washing vegetables. Not for bloody finger washing." Snape glanced at the bucket and then down at her hand, which was sill managing a pretty good show of things. Forefingers don't get much attention in the day to day. Apparently this finger had decided to milk this whole bleeding thing for all it was worth.

"Bring your hand here". It was not a request, but Hermione questioned if she wanted to comply anyway. The real trick was figuring out whether she would lose more blood by refusing to do what he wanted, or by letting Severus Snape play nurse.

He is blocking the only exit, and it's not like this towel is doing anything but becoming a morbid and drippy accessory. With a squarely set jaw Hermione closed the gap between them and brought her left hand up to his own waiting hands. He gently pulled the towel off of her finger and placed it in the sink. Then with something almost like a smirk he lifted the bucket of water over her hand and let a tiny waterfall loose over it.

"That was vegetable water" she mumbled, not willing to be as bossy when Snape was actually helping her. He then carefully, and without touching her, dried her hand with a new towel that was then placed into the sink beside its much pinker cousin. Pinching the narrow end of his wand, Snape whispered a few words and began to pull a long bit of gauze from it. This he wrapped slowly around the cut finger, still without touching her once.

She found herself watching his face, wondering why he seemed to be taking such caution in avoiding touching her even when it would have made his task easier. His fingers were long and slender and he was taller than she had noticed before. In fact, all of his limbs seemed to have been stretched to almost look graceful. He was like a slightly awkward ballerina, one who always wore black and didn't dance. She giggled internally at the though of Snape in a tutu. His eyes were singly focused on sealing up the bandage with a small spell.

He must have noticed her staring because he looked up so suddenly and with a look so intense and unreadable, that Hermione could not help a small intake of breath. The small movement was enough to land her hand barely into his. She was frozen, caught by the indiscernible emotion in his eyes and by the strange immediateness of finding herself holding hands with Severus Snape.

As these things go, it was then that Molly Weasley returned, with the tomatoes she had forgotten for the salad. Hearing her voice snapped Snape and Hermione back into reality. Snape quickly pulled his hand back to his side and without looking at her again he turned and briskly left the kitchen. Hermione could hear Mrs. Weasley's invitation to dinner being quickly refused and the door out of the house being slammed shut. Hermione was only left with enough time to think, what just happened, before Molly bustled into the kitchen.


AN: And that's it... maybe more later, if I can think of more to write.