Disclaimer: If I were one of the richest people in the world, I would have better things to do with my time. Just borrowing the characters for some hopefully in-character fun.
Not two weeks after Hermione's "Melt Down" in front of Snape (she thought it deserved two capital letters), she found herself once again in the library long after dark, slumped on the couch with a pencil and a copy of the Times. Crookshanks rubbed against her ankles and went to wander among the bookshelves. When Professor Snape entered the room, neither was very surprised at the other's presence, but Hermione's eyes did narrow at her professor's slight limp as he walked to his customary armchair and sat down.
"I'm not going to ask if you're all right, because you won't give me a straight answer anyway," she said airily, not looking up from her page.
Snape smirked as he gingerly stretched out his leg. "Been reading up on rhetorical devices, have we?"
Hermione tilted her head to the side and appraised her professor. "Pericles' Funeral Oration. His use of praeteritio was inspiring."
"That part of our history which tells of the military achievements which gave us our several possessions, or of the ready valour with which either we or our fathers stemmed the tide of Hellenic or foreign aggression, is a theme too familiar to my hearers for me to dilate on, and I shall therefore pass it by," Snape recited, almost lazily.
Hermione couldn't help the smile that broke across her face, and before she could remember who exactly she was talking to, she blurted out, "How do you know so much about history?"
"I read, Miss Granger. I pay attention. And, unlike some of the more prominent members of our society, I care about the past and not repeating it." The last words had a bitter edge, and Hermione immediately knew who he was talking about.
"I'd like to see Fudge write a speech like that," she grumbled, then sighed and returned to her paper, tapping the pencil on her knee as she thought.
Snape peered over at her lap. "What is that you're doing?"
She showed him, but he looked ever more perplexed. "It's a Muggle pastime from Japan. A kind of logic puzzle called Sudoku."
"I see." His face broke into an unexpected smile. "I seem to remember you having quite the talent for logic."
She cocked her head to the side, confused for a moment. Then it hit her, and she burst out laughing. "Well," she said modestly, "It was a very elegant problem."
"It took Quirrell twenty minutes, and he drew all sorts of diagrams before he finally solved it. You were what, eleven?"
"Twelve," she corrected.
"Even still. The way I hear it you had it figured in less than ten minutes, all in your head. As much as I hate to dispense compliments, that was quite impressive," he continued, nodding at her approvingly.
"I was so relieved I got it right, you have no idea."
He answered quietly, "I think I have a bit of an idea."
Hermione's jaw dropped. "Professor Snape, are you implying you would have been upset had I been poisoned?"
"No, that would have been a relief," he replied deadpan, "Had you chosen the wine by accident, however, I may well have been charged with furnishing a minor. Ruins a reputation."
Hermione giggled. Snape's mouth twitched a bit, almost a smile, but he couldn't hide the grimace of pain as he adjusted his knee to a more comfortable angle. Hermione eyed him critically, not even looking as she wordlessly summoned something from the kitchen.
Two mugs, a kettle, and two pouches of cocoa mix clattered onto the coffee table, fairly gracefully considering students weren't due to learn wordless magic for another two years. He tried to cover his impressed expression with a sneer, but was distracted as something else zoomed out of the kitchen and settled beside the mugs, rattling a bit.
Snape picked up the bottle and read the label. "Motrin?" he asked, amused and disbelieving. "You do remember I'm a Potions master, yes?"
"And where exactly is your nearest Pain-relieving Potion, Professor?" She smiled innocently, and set to preparing the hot chocolate.
"Hmph," he said. He lifted his own wand and pointed up, there was a faint clinking as several small vials drifted from upstairs into his hand. "Right here, actually. They don't have much effect anymore, I'm afraid." Snape sighed heavily, tipped one pill into his hand, and after scrutinizing with more than a little distrust, swallowed it. He washed it down with the hot chocolate.
Hermione looked pleased, but he glared. "Alright, you fixed me. Happy?"
"Yes, sir," she responded with enthusiasm, taking a swig of her hot chocolate.
He half-rolled his eyes. "I can't help but noticing you're up quite late again."
"Are you asking why?" she said, teasing. He sneered.
"If you must know," she went on, "I've been keeping Ginny awake since I keep talking in my sleep. And, you know, occasionally screaming."
"I know." Snape looked at his hands folded in his lap.
Hermione frowned. "How?"
Snape took a deep breath. "Firstly, the walls in this house are remarkably thin."
Her eyes widened and she blushed with embarrassment before he continued, "Secondly, your young friend Miss Weasley asked me for a Dreamless Sleep potion yesterday, which she hoped to slip into your dinner."
Hermione gasped. "That little—wait, you didn't give it to her, right?"
Snape laughed airily. "Goodness no. She knows nothing about dosage, and her stealth leaves something to be desired. No, instead I told her I'd find a way to slip enough into your evening hot chocolate," he finished casually.
The effect was immediate. Hermione slammed the mug down and pushed it away, then met his eyes. The young witch looked furious. "You… you bastard!"
"Language, Miss Granger." He smiled pleasantly, sipping his own drink.
"How could you?" She stood now, and attempted to tower over him, but even seated he was quite tall.
Snape answered unconcernedly, "You drugged me first."
"I didn't drug you, I offered you medication!" Her hair seemed to swell even more from the electricity of her anger.
Snape stood in order to regain his significant height advantage. "Calm down, Miss Granger, it's completely harmless. There's occasionally some fatigue and—"
"Dizziness?" she interrupted.
"Yes, how did you – oh."
Hermione blinked rapidly, gazing up at her professor beseechingly as she began to sway slightly. He quickly steadied her with a firm hand on her arm, but she was turning pale. "Perhaps I should lie down," she said weakly.
"Good idea. Come, let's get you to your room before you lose muscle control."
"Before I what?" Hermione demanded. Without responding, Snape steered her gently towards the stairs.
At the first landing, she sagged against him slightly and he wrapped an arm around her waist. "I do apologize, Hermione," he said when she looked up, surprised.
"S'okay," she replied, head obviously still fuzzy. "How's your leg?"
Snape hadn't realized, but he was limping much less obviously. "I hate to admit it, but your primitive Muggle remedy seems to have done the trick."
"Ibuprofen's analgesic properties have been extensive… extensively… proven or something…" she sighed. "Whatever. You're still a bastard."
They had reached Hermione's door now, and his voice dropped to a whisper as he led her into the dark room and deposited her on the bed. "Five points from Gryffindor."
She giggled faintly, kicking off her shoes and pulling the covers over herself. "Next time just ask me to take the potion?" she mumbled, her eyes closed.
"Next time?" he questioned softly.
She made a quiet "hmph."
"Goodnight, Miss Granger," Snape whispered, folding down a flap of her comforter so her shoulder was covered.
Hermione had already nodded off. Professor Snape stood and left the room, quietly closing the door as he crept to the next room, soon to follow her into the peaceful oblivion of sleep.
